Projects Prodets are a talented spoken word and poetry community in Chennai, India. Keep reading for a beautiful poem from each of the 3 founders, showcasing their original work.
Lessons of a Frangipani
Have you ever tried to preserve a Frangipani between the pages of a notebook? Have you noticed how unforgivingly they die? You see, some things in life are not meant to last longer than they’re supposed to. And I used to think that was up to me accept or not. You may have noticed how they brown, how they mold like colour changing chameleons, as soon as you touch them. It’s scary, isn’t it? How something so zestfully brilliant can turn… so dry? Somethings in life truly belong only in certain places, no matter how much love and care you may give it. They just aren’t meant for anywhere else. A hurtful revelation, isn’t it? Some days, I like to sit down and watch them from a nearby park bench, in hopes I could figure them out. I’ve noticed they need enough light and equal amounts of shade. A balance. A yin for a yang. They bloom only where they want to, cheerfully on the branches of a Frangipani tree, perched above in all their foreignness, waving in the wind. Frangipani’s have that shade of exoticness and it causes me to wonder how they could be so common, while looking that outer-worldly, that tempting, almost as if the sun itself had become a bloom. And who doesn’t want to touch the sun? I know for one that I do. Maybe because I like the idea of burning as bright. But I’ve understood, that somethings in life are to be enjoyed from afar, and you must learn to marvel at that too.
The Voice of My Tongue
My first ever verse was an
“I see her in shadows of grief”
thinking haughtily that I’ve aced
my metaphors in the meadow of poetic devices
and that my similes are written like
the daffodils of Wordsworth
In reality, I’m miles apart from
mastering the art of poetry
and I think I can speak for everyone
when I think every poet and every poem
is a work in progress
there are days when I think
the words of midnight
stretched on my tongue
and that I could wield my spell of poetry
to be heard, to be seen and to be felt real
and there are days when the realms of poetry
are locked and no matter what
word I write or utter, they flip
right back into my mouth- the words of midnight snubbed right back into my tongue
my tongue, though spineless, has a voice
she wants to scream and yell these words
to the locked realms:
- I matter, I invoke you to shatter this glass door between us and let me melt into you; you becoming me, me becoming you, us becoming one
- Let me find a home in you because while a house is a space, a home is our union and our communion. Don’t let me dangle here: wordless, speechless and breathless. I matter, please let me in
- Why won’t you let me in? Do you hate me because I don’t know you by heart, do you wish I don’t see you anymore, do you want me to stop uttering your name? Let me know what I need to do, I shall do it. just let me in
- Do you remember our first meet? I looked into your soul and found my vocation, you looked at my slithering self and decided to lend me some words so that I could talk? Where are you now? Why have you (b)locked me out? Let me in, please
- I know this isn’t you, but I don’t know why you’re doing this to me. Was it all a lie? Was it a lie to create a truth? Was it deceit or was it real? Or was it a real deception to make betrayal seem like hope? Talk to me, tell me which one is it?
But my tongue’s questions and pleas never reached poetry because she didn’t have any more words to utter. I just wish she could say “I see you in shadows of grief, please let me in” but she couldn’t. I wish I could say “just wait for some time, poetry will come back to you” but the words of midnight stretched themselves too thin and betrayed me as well. I guess sometimes words could reflect our intentions and not betray us with antonyms actings as antagonists. I wish we both could talk, but what use is voicing out opinions when words have been snatched away from us, when we don’t have use for words, when we don’t want to use words?
A Simple Positive Emotion
Why do we fear the dark?
I’m not quoting that from the Batman movie
Believe you me…
But why do we fear loneliness?
Why do we look for signs around us?
Why do we seek the light at the end of the tunnel?
Isn’t it to catch that ray of hope…?
To find that fine thin thread of faith which glides underneath the lamp-post at the end of the street
To hang onto that ray of hope,
Until the light’s come back on.
Hope which is less than wishful thinking
But more of a deep and unwavering belief
Inside your gut which says to you that,
It is gonna get better,
Because it will
Because hope loves to come to you in disguise
Hope loves to dress up
Just like we used to love to dress-up as our parents, when we were kids
It may jump in front of you
In the form of your high school crush
10 years down the road
And asking you
“Are you single?”
While still giving you that feeling of butterflies flying in your stomach
Hope also likes to hide among the crowd
And we search for it
Just Like how we searched for Dad among the crowd at the fair when we were kids
And hope may shatter like glass
It may betray
And It may even disappoint
You may never see it coming
Like the moment your waiting at the hospital lobby for them to come and say
“Your Mom made it through”
But those words fail
And instead you hear
” Your Mom didn’t make it through”
And the world ends
But hope will never let you down easily
Not until it knows that you can walk on your own feet.
Just like Mom letting you go only when she knows that you can walk on your own two tiny feet
So don’t you worry about that ray of hope
Because hope also likes to keep things simple
Like how we hug our pillows now to feel the comfort of Dad’s hug just like when we were kids
So keep it simple
Just like when we were kids.
And hope for the best
Learn more about Projects Prodets and their latest work right here.