Page 23 - Q2 Newsletter New Design BACKUP5

Meet our Budding Poets@Resdev

Once upon a time, I lost myself
in a place, which I saw in my dreams.
The place where fog is thick and threads through the seams of
street lights and streetcars.
I tell you I lost myself in the tongue of insanity who
gulped my soul to feed its humanity.
I lost myself
in a city that found me;
The people, the people, the people.
What can’t be said about the near million faces sleeping
on warm pillows or cold stones,
wearing top hats & expensive dresses because
not every night are people thriving
But they’re still surviving, getting busy living or getting busy dying.
In their eyes are stories being told
once you wipe those windows into their souls, deep.
You see it all,
Just like every star in the fall when the sun goes to sleep.
I gave a homeless man a dollar who gave it to another homeless man who then gave it back to me
Like we were passing a love note that said, “You need this more than me.”
So which of us was the one without the home?
Home I soon found in the art of every step taken,
one foot in front of the next.
I can’t walk through that city discounting the side effects.
I was drunk,
but not from bottles or cans
I was drunk from the hands that
told tales with graffiti art to camera pans.
and countless other melodies massaging
bricks into the landmarks that spanned.
Culture sprinkling up and down the hills and between the cracks
Painting colors in the sky as the rainbows stacked,
Finding pots of gold by merely lifting my eyelids back.
There is so much to say about this city in the bay,
that is held in place by the people of race
and the vessels of art that encompass in its space
like stories and attitude,
survival and gratitude,
muse and expression
in delight or depression.
I tell you I lost myself in that city.
But I know now that being lost is sometimes the only way to be truly found.
-Shalmoli Roy Choudhury

As dark as moonless night, our dear holy might
Curly haired,lotus eyed, has a flute by his side
As frangrant as sandal wood, on his left leg he stood
Yellow attire bright, peakcock feature on forehead, is a sight
Enchanting are his hyms of flute, mesmerizes the entire route
The illuminous, steals and lies, dissolves us in his eyes
Spreads a kind of love, we keep yearning for
The magic he spreads, we keep looking for
The god of love, makes u dance on his musical songs
Forgeting, the world, the rights and the wrongs
Son of yashoda and beloved of radha
The bearer of flute, lord kanha
-Megha Batra