Guest Post: Poetry Collection by Priti Vitankar

My friend Priti Vitankar wrote a collection of poems that I thought was beautiful, so she gave me permission to post them here. Priti is from Mumbai, India and she is an Operations Management major and part of the University of Cincinnati Class of 2023. She has lived in 5 countries and is an equestrian. This collection is centered around a theme of coping with sadness. “Infected” and “My Sanity” are about quarantine. I hope you guys enjoy reading them as much as I do!

Infected

It’s near me, all around me

But I don’t have it

It’s changed everything I know to be normal

It’s changed the course of my life

And yet, I still don’t have it

 

As each person falls and falls

The world starts to tremble

For the mistake of one can affect the other

 

What must we live upon?

What must we do?

For I am infected without being too

 

My Sanity

Sanity; I’m losing it

Day by day, it creeps away

The tapping of my feet

The faster breathing

The voice inside me wanting to get out

To scream in frustration to scream in pain

 

What has my life come to?

Locked in with the annoyance

Day after day. Increasing.

The voices outside are no better than the ones in

The constant words

The constant looks

 

I’ve come so close to the edge

I might just fall

Fall to where? I must see.

Is this madness really a reality?

 

Path

Two steps forward, one step back.

Not as easy, as it seems,

Another path is what you seek

Perhaps one, that you have already found

But not a way you want to go on.

Confessing shows the knowledge of the path

Knowledge means you know it’s the only way out

You know what it is

I don’t have to repeat twice

 

Two steps forward, three steps back

Alas, I have said it

And you know, it will last

Around your mind it will go,

Threatening you with your darkest fears

For this isn’t as simple as you must have thought

The steps are known but never shown

 

Don’t be a fool,

This isn’t cruel.

It’s the path everyone must take,

Before it’s too late

Take a step back and turn yourself around

But don’t run back

That’s all that counts

 

SCISSORS

A symbol of happiness

A symbol of pain

Cuts through the pages of yesterday

Smooth or rough, it may go

Straight or askew, it may cut

 

Can be glued into something new

Zigzagged, is how it may remain

Scars will stay, all through time

 

Relived or not,

That’s up to you.

The pages have been cut

And now the time has come,

To be something new

 

 

 

 

The world at its worst

Instead of accepting differences,

they pull a trigger

oblivious to the cries.

Instead of promoting unity (world peace would be too naiive),

they drown innocent humans

in their own blood.

 

Day by day

Bodies helplessly collapse to the ground.

Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters and children

reach their hands out as they fall

for one last hug,

one last word,

a substitute for a prayer to live.

 

Normal days turn into nightmares.

Over fifty killed at home

and eighty next door.

 

Headlines spew out the word “Terror”

as if this is our norm:

People tumbling to their deaths

and reckless acts even the imagination is afraid of.

We spend our lives learning how much we’ve evolved

but we make great efforts tearing that apart.

Poetry Collection

In mid-late December, I submitted a collection of three poems to the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and earned a Silver Key. Below is a copy of my collection.

 

Blinded

 

You were the poisonous berries of mistletoe.

Glowing.

Reflecting the light of the Sun.

The sweetness I savored

was actually blood.

But I choked it down

before the vibrant red left a stain.

 

I danced on water with rocks

penetrating my feet.

The waves carried me to a boulder

as I swayed my arms.

I sat on cloud nine

with acid rain falling on my head.

I was crumbling,

bit by bit,

yet I sat still

believing I was whole.

 

Your phone went off and her voice

was the last thing I heard before I fled.

The darkness directed me as I became blinded by the golden light.

Blinded by a bliss I never really reached.

 

Your ambiguous messages stabbed me

where I couldn’t feel the pain.

The point of the blade pierced me as the sword fell

but I mistook it for a prick

 

All this time I was crawling

when I thought I was standing

on top of the world.

With you right beside me.

 

The Pain of Remorse

 

Words

rolling off my tongue

like waves

gliding through the ocean.

I didn’t mean it.

he knows that

all too well.

Yet i was left

halfway out the door

with a face streaked with fresh tears

as his car sped

angrily down the driveway.

 

The motor

rumbling

like threats to leave.

Forever.

 

“Stop.”

My violin hand

reaching out

was too slow

for his cross country

legs

running

out the door.

 

“Please listen, I…:

My voice was too shaky

for his silver sedan.

 

I caught a glimpse of him

through the glass that

he thought was shielding him.

As the trees

sashayed

in the wind beside us

his heart bled.

I wanted to say something.

Anything.

But my feet were glued

to the ground.

 

I stood staring

as a single

cold raindrop

pierced my eye.

 

I could have stopped

the fight.

I could have bitten my tongue

before the waves of my words

drowned us both.

Instead of watching him

leave forever,

I could have seen his car

joyfully speeding up the driveway the next day.

His car motors off,

his heart full and

the rain

beating down on us.

Together.

 

Thirteen

 

Age is just a number.

A number that makes you

too old to

jump in a pile of leaves

and sing

by the backyard pool.

 

We used to be

best friends.

You would read to me

and I would smile up at you, big sister

as I grabbed the book from your hands

and tried to read.

 

Our pillow fights

were tradition.

We would build a fort

and sneak food through the tiny windows.

We would giggle

and run

to turn off the lights

as Mom’s feet

stomped up the stairs.

And when the coast was clear

we would destroy the fort

and do anything

to knock the other person down.

 

But at thirteen

you took my book

and smirked at the cover

because you were to cool

to read to a little kid.

Your eyes were like daggers

daring me to ask you

one more time.

 

When the leaves

fell off the tree

You stormed outside

to rake them.

The pile was left

looking like a mountain.

I jumped alone and the tears formed

as you sighed

and slammed the door behind you.

 

At thirteen

your pillows were arranged

neatly on your bed.

You had more important things to do

Forts were childish

Pillow fights were a waste of time

And I

was the pebble

underneath your high-heeled shoes.

Shadow

i see it near me.

in the light it copies

my every move.

through the corner of my eye

i see its foot

arrogantly stepping in line with mine.

i freeze.

my Imposter

doesn’t even breath.

in the light

it runs behind me.

clutching my medals to its chest

holding my life in its hollow mind.

when you look  at me

you see my Imposter

lurking behind the curtains.

But

as the light diminishes

my Imposter waves goodbye.

it scurries away from the darkness

and leaves me alone

to find my way.

i frolic through

the ambiguity

with nothing beside me.

i march with no vision

astray

from the unlit path.

as i feel through the air

swooshing beside me

and find my way

a light flickers on.

i smile and break

into a run.

but i look ahead

and stop in my tracks.

standing still

in the brightest of lights

waiting to greet me is

my Imposter.

True bonds never break

I feel like mothers and daughters have this unbreakable bond. And while the specific words of this poem don’t elude to my experiences, I wanted to show how the bonds between mothers and daughters are tight even after something that could have been on it’s way to breaking them. 

Fights and yelling matches

Words tossed around like stones

Leaving permanent scars of

Regret

Remorse

Guilt

You ruin my life-

That stone hit the mother in the face

When the scar appeared, she used it as fuel

A good daughter would never say that-

The daughter took the hit to her stomach and couldn’t breathe

But the scar formed, releasing every emotion.

Wailing. Screaming. Words misused.

A tornado formed above their heads

And they were sucked in

Propelled by the speed of the wind

Ready for more.

Shots fired.

Stones headed for the heart.

Scars slowly formed.

The heart bled and the tornado vanished

Back into thunderstorm.

The lightning marveled at its own glory

And the thunder roared in response.

Back and forth

Back and forth

All of a sudden, the lightning sensed the pain

Albeit the thunder’s arrogant bellows.

The tree stood petrified

Anticipating the final strike.

But it never came.

The lightning and thunder faded

Leaving rain and the tree.

The rain showered the tree with love and care

And it grew.

As it did

It leaned closer to the rain

In apology for wrongdoings.

The sun stayed hidden

Expecting the ultimate downpour.

But it never came.

The sun came out from behind the clouds.

It and mother Earth were the only left standing.

Every day

The sun provided.

Giving Earth life in spite of it’s own.

Earth gladly accepted

And revolved around the Sun

While taking it’s own separate path.

The solar system stood in anticipation

Waiting for the Sun to burst with anger

And the Earth to crumble into pieces.

But it never came.

Release

This is not a true story or event for me. This is, however, a reverse poem. When you read it top-to-bottom, you should get a certain message. When you read it bottom-to-top, you should get a message that contradicts the previous one. I chose to put this poem in reverse because if people didn’t know, they would read the poem in the way that it’s most obvious and presented–much like the situation present:

i’m Fine.

it is False that

i’m still Clinging

and

this Struck me.

in Actuality,

i have Released my grip on the past

i have Forgotten

i’ve never looked Back.

this friendship meant Nothing, and

we were never best Friends.

everyone I’ve fooled thinks

i Care.