blue.

By Lipika Raghunathan

My poetry focuses on feminism in an abstract and lyrical way. The title and content reflect the color blue in Hindu mythology as well as the colloquial use of “feeling blue” to describe depression.

Dusk

day starts anew
dusky girl
mirrored glass reflects
society’s ugly shrapnel
pierced that soft tender skin
soft from the light of the
radiant sun and salty sea
child of nature
universe in the mouth
hari hari hari
hari krishna
hari girl, green with envy
hurry, girl, the world will not
wait for you
you will not have endless
possibilities
but i am twilight colored
more complex than you could imagine
i am flushed, that hot red southern sun rising
i am bruised, purple and pained, striped through
i am rage, white hot fury as i warm the earth hour by
hour
you don’t realize
this celestial girl
is the creator, the maintainer,
and the great destroyer
dark dusk in the morning
bright, rich lapis afternoon
end, periwinkle, blinding molten gold.

sad girl’s love song*
*inspired by Sylvia Plath’s “Mad Girl's Love Song”

who can oil that heart of rust
crack that crust, make me whole again
i won’t let you regain my trust
never cushy love, crushed under violent lust
if you are red, i go back to black and blue
who can oil that heart of rust
entitled, you run fingers through my thick layers of dust
bit my tongue like peppercorns
i won’t let you regain my trust
life goes on, she must adjust
saturated with sadness, life moves in blurs
who can oil that heart of rust
don’t return to the heart you left concussed
i’d rather my memories be lobotomized
i won’t let you regain my trust
i have to leave it here and do myself justice
wrap and nurture myself up in cashmere
who can oil that heart of rust
i won’t let you regain my trust
roaring blue flame
blue like fire that burns too hot
just because she is dark it means she
is evil and meant to be feared
skulls clack along her collarbone
her blood red tongue out
she is power and rage
personified as a deity
golden one but
when angered
she is the dark one
mother nature
she is shakti
without shakti
the great destroyer is
destroyed himself
blacker than the darkest storm
but her wickedness
is maya
an illusion
for she is something even
more frightening
a hell raising, unruly
wild
powerful
goddess

ode to maya sita

when young, wide-eyed, full cheeked
i heard the tales, the legends
over generations, the ancestors speak
that saga whose end calls for triumph
of festival, of light, in celebration
of good over evil, our indigo hero has won
set off firecrackers as ephemeral
as the illusion herself
the illusion:
maya, phantasmic, a mirage
made for accessory to the maharaj
a duplicate in the uncanny valley
my eyes must be tricking me
my, now, weary womanly figure
shaped and endowed
sees those stories
in the dark alleyways,
black market of mythology
what they didn’t teach long ago,
what they didn’t want us to know
devoted, dutiful, biwi
consort, wife, patni
lonely in a strange, new place
follows that fabled
golden deer, glisten rain like monsoon
shimmering but gone too soon
unintentionally curvaceous, still
she was snatched, grabbed
like a prize for the taking, male desire fulfilled
she sobs in the chariot, eyes blur
the demon king beams
ten eerie, foreboding smiles upon her
but was it her?
or chaya, shadow sita?
maya, the double, the specter
the one who does not mind
abduction, torture, and abuse
so long as his true wife is not morally loose
so we hope for satya, true sita
her purity to be safeguarded
but no room for doubt, no virgin marred
for the test must be absolute
trial by fire, trust in agni
agony, pain, torment
that impure sita burn away
taken, laid by another man
against her will, her own body betrayed
the weak faint hearted prince took his
unclean woman back as rumors swirled
no fire in the world
can purify the unchaste beauty
she paraded herself into this, flirtatious girl
how dare she contribute to rama’s public shame
she wanted a rebirth, but no avatars in her
to become something else
escape her cursed name
tossed away, back to the forest
where her initial pain began
pregnant, alone, now dispensed devi
hoped her boys, like gemini
see both sides & protect the matriarchy
stories of many before her, their womanhood we grieve
eat forbidden fruit and then blame deceitful eve
so put a fatwa on the shrew, protect the boys
lest she sing like a siren and seduce like helen of troy
unjust cruel world, the cycle will continue
she screams,
mother earth, swallow me, let me be free
return me to my natural state, no one will notice
reincarnate as alar, padmavati
bloom again, start anew, like a fresh water-lotus

Process

I began to write this during quarantine and dove deep into my emotions about mental health, women of color and feminism.