Earlier in the week I performed at an open Mic poetry event at Duffy's Irish Bar in Leicester. It was very stimulating to meet such open minded people with a wealth of talent. I also pushed myself to a different level with the type of poems I chose to perform. They both not only had themes from my motherland, Assam, in the North East of India. I also recited a couple of stanza's of my second poem in my mother tongue Assamese. This is the first time I have written a poem in another language and it has inspired me to write more.
Both poems will be posted on my blog, the following is the first one I performed. It looks at the theme of how the Assamese mark pretty much every occasion in life with a different type of song. These songs can be lullabies, for medicinal purposes, rituals etc. The rituals performed during a woman's pregnancy and even when a child has smallpox, some type of song is sung.
A Life in Song.
From the cradle to the grave,
in sadness and joy.
Darkness and light,
a song to sing.
After conception,
the warmth of a mothers womb,
nourished with a song.
Blessed before entering the world.
A grand entrance,
greeted with a song.
Rocked in a cradle,
no longer a restless child.
Laying close to a mothers heart,
soothed by her milk.
And sweet voice,
drifting into the night.
Pains and perils of smallpox.
A mothers heartbreak,
a suffering child.
A medicinal song.
Passed from mother to child,
flowing within the blood,
embedded in the veins.
ingrained for life.
Both poems will be posted on my blog, the following is the first one I performed. It looks at the theme of how the Assamese mark pretty much every occasion in life with a different type of song. These songs can be lullabies, for medicinal purposes, rituals etc. The rituals performed during a woman's pregnancy and even when a child has smallpox, some type of song is sung.
A Life in Song.
From the cradle to the grave,
in sadness and joy.
Darkness and light,
a song to sing.
After conception,
the warmth of a mothers womb,
nourished with a song.
Blessed before entering the world.
A grand entrance,
greeted with a song.
Rocked in a cradle,
no longer a restless child.
Laying close to a mothers heart,
soothed by her milk.
And sweet voice,
drifting into the night.
Pains and perils of smallpox.
A mothers heartbreak,
a suffering child.
A medicinal song.
Passed from mother to child,
flowing within the blood,
embedded in the veins.
ingrained for life.
Maya, a very big well done.
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