To giraffes who keep their necks above the clouds

aspire to reach the sun
pine hard, long enough
that anatomy changes

crane up to bask
in the effervescent sunlit sky
at a hot air balloon's height

then, also, stick your head
into the bedazzling brilliance
of a jumped-in monsoon puddle

follow the sun to the ground
the linear path imagined
shall curl into a spiral

bend down harder and
you may see light shining
under you, inside you

laden clouds around your neck
cast shadows, obscure vision
'other' the world

don't you want to be
bigger than what shaped you?



30.04.2020

Published in hākārā: a bilingual journal of creative expression, Turbulence, Issue 12 in September 2020 

https://www.hakara.in/pooja-ugrani/

Knife and phone

I sit down to enjoy my art

with a knife and phone

a faint hunger works up
after listless hours of scrolling,
satiated by plating colours,
textures, guising gnawing boredom

an elaborate post production
followed by regular reporting
to imagined drools, likes,
hearts and compliments

a click later, the deafening roar of
aeon travelled stomachs
shatter my plate. I gulp splinters

stab what is left
of hunger inside

15.04.2020

Published in hākārā: a bilingual journal of creative expression, Turbulence, Issue 12 in September 2020 

https://www.hakara.in/pooja-ugrani/

C

"I can draw a C on your bum
when you stand sideways"
was when i started using
three limp layers
to drown a C of flesh

extending below waistline
slits on the sides
of a straight cut,
accommodate the C
aid locomotion, on land

to inspire flight,
one would need
to cut, rotate and hinge
these fluttering flaps
along a perpendicular axis

today
they instigate
agonizing, culture driven,
guilt ridden cover-ups
of what is already covered

anarkalis, with spacious insides,
expand auras, promise more fun;
they billow, cajole to spin,
to mirror infamous aunts
blown up by Harry Potter

An accessible grab
in the washroom
a swift pull ensuring
friction between cloth, skin, hair
To savour blissful dry hours

Fabric finds function
satiates by sucking moisture

I step out with wet patches
over time moved consciously
to improbable locations
hoping they dry off, unnoticed
for basic social acceptance

olfactory traces of rubbing my insides out
on the C covering garb marks my body
filtering heads that are invited into my lap

10.03.2020

Published in Cafe Dissensus Everyday blog in April 2020

https://cafedissensusblog.com/2020/04/07/three-poems-by-pooja-ugrani/

To the boomer who called my baby a burden

A throwaway remark
dished out at lunch,
oozing slyly
at the colleague/husband
by someone who has
never provided for me,
and never will.

You have no idea,
how and why we choose
to live with each other,
nursing our soreness,
standing up to face the world,
while a little being observes us
closely, intently.

As I step out to earn
he steps in to rear
I let her fall, dust her wounds,
needing her to be tough
he dresses her up,
makes her look into the mirror
to feel beautiful
I teach her to live
with what we have
He allows her to indulge
every once in a while

There is no space in our lives
for unmeasured judgments
or unimaginative minds
weighed down
by the beliefs of yesteryears
You cannot begin to fathom
this magnanimously beautiful chaos
we have painstakingly worked on.

We sit
on each other's shoulders
we are our own giants,
learning, dancing, fighting, fluid,
filling each other's voids
with everything
that is anything but a burden.

13.01.2020

Published in Cafe Dissensus Everyday blog in April 2020

https://cafedissensusblog.com/2020/04/07/three-poems-by-pooja-ugrani/

Also published in The Kali Project: Invoking the Goddess Within / Indian Women’s Voices on 08/01/2021 by Indie Blu(e) publishers

Palimpsest

I witnessed a child, wronged
inside a temple and vowed
i wouldn't enter one
its sanctity, polluted for me
to a point of no return

the horror that child
must have gone through
contained there
conflicted hard and battered
my image of a temple

of stone walls dimly lit,
of facing light, bowing down
eyes shut, to keep in and not keep out
silences where voices are heard
assuring you that you are safe

I shut down, impotent, helpless
hugged my young child
and cried each night

I cursed myself
for having brought her
into this messy coccoon,
laced with pervading, engulfing
nightmarish possibilities

I lived and quietened a million what ifs
I wanted to forget that face
I wanted to unsee and unremember everything

Recently i took my child
with her grandparents
to a temple

It didn't feel traumatic, 
Enough time had passed,
enough for a mute observer
on Facebook pages
not having to clean up and deal
with the mess later
not getting daily reminders
of horrors from the past

A new patch stitched over old clothes
As fresh memories cover older ones
into gentle oblivion

accepting
not negating, not normalising
only, very selfishly
finding my peace.

16.12.2019

Published in Cafe Dissensus Everyday blog in April 2020

https://cafedissensusblog.com/2020/04/07/three-poems-by-pooja-ugrani/

Also published in The Kali Project: Invoking the Goddess Within / Indian Women’s Voices on 08/01/2021 by Indie Blu(e) publishers

On having entered a room

On most days I witness

seesaws of alternating identities 

as we hiccough through planned exchanges 

and spontaneous spurts

engaging in our own little play, 

trying to sit still, weightless in the centre, 

as if we do not matter

Today’s different, somehow

cracks laden with seeped pretension threaten collapse, 

realignments of agreed-upon definitions for this space,

as the sanctity of boundaries between relations 

that changed behind closed doors

is dragged into the public eye 

With blaring earphones and eyes shut

I no longer exist in this room

now I am a cat that waits 

to jump out of balance, to find myself 

to make me whole 

to become manifold, timeless

18.10.2019

Published in hākārā: a bilingual journal of creative expression, Turbulence, Issue 12 in September 2020 

https://www.hakara.in/pooja-ugrani/

I want to sing like you

To Vidhya Gopal
I want to sing like you

I sing like the
single running stitch
of an unoiled tailoring machine,
reaching, quite linearly
from one point to another,
amply wandering, uncontrolled
outside the edges of sur in the songs i sing

You sing like the
convoluted floral embroidery
of a kurta worn proudly
created by hands, weathered by riyaaz,
making listeners lose themselves to
the nuances your textured voice creates
in snippets caught on Insta and Facebook

The completion of your song
holds no relevance to me
as the safar has become
more khoobsoorat than the manzil
and i enjoy your rendering of individual words
as you nurture and embellish them
with seemingly effortless harqatein

Your singing comes from a place of truth without pretentions.
It has made me knock on the door
of that room within me.

15.05.2019

I have been following this girl for sometime now on Facebook and Instagram and my, how she inspires me! Total fan I have become!

Published in The Punch Magazine, the Byword on 14/12/2019

https://thepunchmagazine.com/the-byword/poetry/her-marred-maang-and-other-poems