Thursday, April 16, 2009

Confused ?

Another poem found buried in email archives, written somewhen in June 2005. I can't seem to make out my precise thoughts behind writing the poem. Something is lost in the last 4 years.


I am fearful, I am afraid
Hungry, yet I see no bread
I have a needle to mend things up
But how do I find the correct thread? 

Iambic Tetrameter Sonnet ?

I found this buried in my email, this was written somewhere in June 2005. I had intentions to write a sonnet that was in an iambic tetrameter, but I now think I flopped at the attempt. Any Iambic-ness might be attributed to my Indian English at the time of writing, which may have evolved in the past four years of travel.


Here's the poem any way...

At every fork I saw in life
I hoped I chose the correct way,
I wished, as river, that my run
was towards the brighter bay...

When it is time to take a turn,
bright rays from future invite me,
Glad I am-- there is light ahead
yet sad-- the present, I can't see...

I fear that I digress from
the road that has a better tread,
The thought that the invitation
takes me to hell makes me afraid...

Straight roads I think I'll manage folks,
But can the giants help me on forks?

Thursday, March 15, 2007

An attempt at Marathi prosody

I am experimenting with Marathi Prosody (वृत्त) for the first time ever. I am excited about how poems with syllables bound by rules sound better than with ones that aren't. I am in Switzerland, trying to welcome Spring, but all of a sudden, the weather has changed and it has started snowing. I wrote the following stanza.

वृत्त - भुजन्गप्रयात

वसंतात का हा चमत्कार व्हावा
हवे ऊन वाटे, तु बर्फ पडावा
नको गार वारे पुन्हा बोचणारे
नव्या पालव्यांचा ऋतू आज यावा

Friday, July 21, 2006

How pop-corn pops

On the messenger one day, I was discussing corn food with a friend. He suddenly asked me about scientific phenomena behind the popping of a corn. I was a bit poetic that day, so here is my instant reply to him (within 45 seconds):

Pop-corn endosperm has moisture inside
And the kernel, in size, is not that wide
The pericarp is impervious to moisture,
And we expose the corn to high temprature.

The water boils inside the grain
But steam’s escape-efforts go in vain
The pressure inside builds to 10 atmospheres,
And the corn pops, a sound one hears.

The explosion turns the kernel inside out,
And this popcorn, we put in mouth!