Songs/Poems

Something About Eli

/ Aarati Kasturirangan / Leave a comment

Eli

 

I want to write something about Eli

quintessential second of two

I want to write something about Eli

but he’d never demand that I do

 

I want to write something about Eli

if his sister would stop all this chatter

I want to write something about Eli

but I’m running around like a Hatter!

 

I want to write something about Eli

he’s deserving of some of my time

I want to write something about Eli

just one sentence, one story, one rhyme

 

I want to write something about Eli

how his smile’s full of mischief and mirth

I want to write something about Eli

maybe tell you the tale of his birth

 

I want to write something about Eli

how it’s so different having a boy

I want to write something about Eli

but I’m too busy tripping over his toys!

 

I want to write something about Eli

the two-year-old young Houdini

I’d like to write  something about Eli

but I’m hearing his, “Carry you me!”

 

I’d like to write something about Eli

but he wants me to run, jump, and play

So I guess that a poem about Eli

will be written on some other day.

 

Grocery List

/ Aarati Kasturirangan / 2 Comments

Carrots, celery, sprinkle cheese, thyme

taco shells, cheerios, batteries, lime

baby wipes, oranges, pepperoni, rice

ginger beer, dobi, shampoo (anti-lice!)

sandwich bags, veggie sausage, sippy cups, towels

alphabet soup – but hold the vowels!

Seedless grapes, pitted olives, lactose-free milk

don’t forget the apron made of silkworm-free silk!

Being a domestic god(ess) has its perks,

but let’s be clear, the truth is it’s a lot of work!

NaPoWriMo 2013:  Day 10  (prompt was an un-love poem)

Indian, American

/ Aarati Kasturirangan / 8 Comments

I’ll tell you when it happened to me

floating unsuspectingly

inside a watery balloon

muffled Tamil filtered through.

 

The world outside awaited me

Mama and chittis, thatha, and patti.

dhal and iddli, curds and rice

scents of spices to entice.

 

My fate was settled it would seem

a child of India I would be

destined to live in families’ arms

plying my first- granddaughter charms.

 

But then, a hairpin turn in fate.

My life in Bharat would have to wait.

A conversation passed between

mother and father still unseen.

 

He left for opportunity

she stayed and waited there for me

then later she would make her way

the crying babe would have no say.

 

Together they would meet him there

and build a life in Delaware.

And now I am the me you see

American minority.

 

So much of who I am today

the things I think and do and say

are born of one small change in course

that had an immeasurable force.

 

Indian I will always be

but American is what makes me, me.

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NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 9

I Ride the Broad Street Line

/ Aarati Kasturirangan / Leave a comment

broad street line map

 

I ride the Broad Street Line from knees to heart.

Quiet pulse pumping, pushing me toward

the turnstile’s heavy lift and drop,

then down dimly lit steps.

 

I wait. Slow rattle approaches.

Uniquely uniform striped hair

tops the heads on faces of all shades.

I gotta get me a do like that.

 

Inside this traveling white blood cell.

I see each station pass.

And remember them by their color scheme.

City Hall stop is  familiar.

Concord high Raiders maroon and gold.

Race/Vine’s a bathroom stall pale green.

 

My own heart skips as I maneuver

the spinning metal grating

that releases me out

la toxin passing through the skin.

 

In front of me

the tip of Goliath’s paint brush

peers out from between.

Majestic seat of local power rises.

Penn surveys his glassstone forest.

 

Under my feet the vein

is pumping, passing,

pushing, waiting,

until I return

to be transported

again.

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NaPoWriM 2013: Day 8

Companion to “I Ride the Regional Rail” posted in October 2012

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Soul’s lullabye

/ Aarati Kasturirangan / 3 Comments

Close your eyes

gentle man.

Let the fire

grow dimmer.

Stars inside you

fall around you.

All the lights

begin to fade.

Close your eyes

gentle man.

night is calling to you.

Close your eyes

gentle man.

Let your spirit pass through.

__________________________________________-

NaPoWriMo 2013:  Day 7

Who we will be

/ Aarati Kasturirangan / 2 Comments

In this two months ours home

some how a sense of deja vu

but in lieu of “This has happened before.”

more, “This will happen and happen.”

wrapping me in familiar, warm,

storm-sheltering calm.

 

I will know this place.

Each space will tell a tale.

The veil of age will fall here.

Years and years of being,

Seeing the ups and downs,

the sounds of child growing

us slowing, me and you

who we will be.

The Writer’s Shanty

/ Aarati Kasturirangan / Leave a comment

What do we do with a wordy writer?

What do we do with a wordy writer?

What do we do with a wordy writer?

Early in the morning!

Cut out all the crap and make it tighter.

Cut out all the crap and make it tighter.

Cut out all the crap, please make it tighter.

Early in th morning.

What do we do with a passive voice?

What do we do with a passive voice?

What do we do with a passive voice?

Early in the morning.

Figure out the action and make a choice.

Figure out the action and make a choice.

Figure out the action and make a choice.

Early in the morning,

What do we do when it all just stinks?

What do we do when it all just stinks?

What do we do when it all just stinks?

Early in the morning.

Rip it up, toss it out, let it sink.

Rip it up, toss it out, let it sink.

Rip it up, toss it out and let it sink.

And get yourself a drink!

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NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 3

Stroller Talk

/ Aarati Kasturirangan / 4 Comments

I am pushing the stroller over city sidewalk.

We bumble through discarded cups.

“The earth is our mother.”

Why did I just say that?

“She gives us a place to live, food to eat, water to drink.”

Four year old ears listen to everything.

She chews on my words with her teeth.

She tastes something fishy.

“If the earth is our mother, who is our father?”

Damn! Keep pushing, keep moving, keep talking.

“The Sun! He keeps us warm, he gives us energy. And light!”

I am a genius. It’s all wrapped up in a neat package.

The wheels rattle and I scan for bumps in the concrete to avoid.

She spits it out. It tasted ok, but something in the texture was off.

“I don’t think the earth is our mother.”

I swerve to avoid hitting the tracksuit in front of me.

“It’s not?  What do you think it is?”

When in doubt, turn the question around.

“It’s a planet.”

Shit. She’s good.

“A planet is a planet.”

The wheels continue to rattle in my head.

Thank goodness we’re almost there.

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NaPoWriMo 2013: Day 2