Woman Of Essence: Poet Swagatika Samantaray

logo Woman of Essence final photo                                                                             

O lovely scent!  O petals!

Silent… how silent the Wind!

 

 

like a passing  wind

she is an enigma, 

a puzzle a conundrum… 

a tear, a smile, a lapiz lazulli, 

a few facts…

a thunderous lightning

a horse power of courage

her voice wanders 

shrilling whispering 

in the silence of her being.

 

23754819_10214579794273530_1584915404407636626_n

 

I shall feature les femmes Internationale literaturnus… poetries of their own country’s beautiful language, then I shall try to  translate the poem’s soul, heart, and spirit in the most sensual ecstatic intoxicating English Language… not literally, not word for word, but in words that languaged the thoughts. I call it Perceptive Translations!!! Then I shall create an impressionistic portrait  of the featured poetician.

__ade caparas manilah sydney nsw australia 02 may 2019

 

https://adecaparas34.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/adecaparasmanilah/posts

Email Address: gmanilah@yahoo.com

                               gandahmanilah3@gmail.com

 

O! O! O!

WOE HD Swagatika final

Swagatika Samantaray

     her eyes her facial portrait is an innocence of a child… grabbing sucking her mother’s breast yet  her thoughts her soul has the richness of a thousand souls: the likes of a Simone De Beauvoir, of an Han Suyin; famous women  of philosophical thoughts __ only age 17 last march 2019 and only in her year 12 of school, her choice of words express an astounding sophisticate of contemporary language… She lives in India, in Odisha. Born and raised in the same place, she quipped, “I opened my eyes to this lovely earth on 432….4th March 2002.”

    

She started to write poetry at 13age, when they had a poetry competition at school __absolutely clueless on what to write, the recent massacre of 16 Dec 2014, still picturesquely afresh and grieves her heart, her subject was about a boy called Daud Ibrahim , a grade 9 student, who was absent on the very fateful day __ his alarm clock had failed to wake him up, missed school, thus saved   him from that tragic massacre his fellow students  met at the cold blooded terrorist attack. An emotional pathos engulfed her very soul… a contradiction of joy and sadness: of being saved and of losing all your mates in the Peshawar Army School attack. 

“When I sink deep into the whirlpool of empty feelings, I pick up my pen and write… an incident that stirs me from inside, makes me write.“ 

Someone says me, I am lucky

As I am the only one to be left

Standard 9 is now a history

And I am totally bereft.

I don’t know the answer ‘Am I lucky?’ 

To you if the answer does seem

Please tell me, it’s a request

I am Daud Ibrahim.” __Swagatika S.

Asked who is her inspiration, “My mom had always been my inspiration. But it’s not always the inspiration that you need… it comes spontaneously, like many a times, I would be wandering and there strikes a certain word or a theme, or a phrase. The feeling after that is unexplainable. You will feel it choking your throat, as if, it has to be spilled on the paper at any cost. And then when your pen is ready to bleed, your words come from their own. In poetry, you never struggle to write. Well, I believe that you never chose your language, your language chooses you. Usually my poems rhyme themselves. Apart from that, there is no particular style or form. Ah yes, sometimes I cry and then I write and sometimes I write then I cry. I believe if your poem can melt your own eyes, it will definitely trigger the emotions in it’s readers.”

Asked who are her favourite poets, “Speaking of favourite poet, well, there’s no one in particular. I enjoy Millay’s poetry . I love Frost’s depth of words and Keat’s style. Apart from them, I love Gulzar, the famous Indian lyricist. He makes you cry with his words.”

Asked whether public approval spells her meaning of success, “Public approval, though is an essential part, but it never defines my success. After I have emptied my thoughts, if I feel satisfied, that means I have succeeded. And when I see that satisfaction in my reader’s eyes, even if it meant only one reader, I feel complete.”

Asked about marriage, “I am 17 now, in my teens, far away from the chances of marriage.”

 

Asked about philosophical meaning of  LIFE LOVE SUFFERING: 

“Before you leave Life, make sure you have lived it.

 about Love, what is love if it can be defined by words.”

“And Sufferings, sometimes it’s the pain you need to feel alive. We all wish for our dreams to come true, forgetting that nightmares are dreams too. Of course, suffering is but the parallel aspect of living. Just have faith that one day it will be all right. I always said that my life was a black hole and I was drowning in that, and nothing can escape from a black hole, not even light. My friend corrected me saying that if the black 

hole engulfs all the light, think how bright it would be from inside. Just trust your heart, this suffering might be an ingredient for your success.

Let this puzzle of life stay mysterious.  

Swagatika-2WOE
Poem No 1 By Swagatika S.

Late in a moonless night,

Ages ahead of the common sight;

A dumb silence, a deaf solitude,

And a blind darkness, her fate had sewed…

All altogether had come to her place,

To the yard of an artist, an artist so ace;

Busy was she in her world of painting,

Trust me, those were literally breathtaking.

Her drawings were different, no it wasn’t our kind,

She drew those unfullstoped thoughts, crossing her mind;

Her skin was her canvas, the scars were the colours,

In the sea of her tears, the oozing blood were just rollers…

Oh my sweet darling, its my bet,

Bamboozled by life, her eyes had been wet.

No skin was left, it were all cuts,

But to choke her breath, she still lacked guts…

Tired of her humdrum life, tired of drawing,

Tired of being tired, tired of breathing..

Maybe just maybe, her fate would do her justice,

Might be just might be, The Judgement Day shall pay her paintings their price…..

A Perceptive Response __ade caparas manilah

To Poem No. 1

a lovely sunset setting

completes my canvass

O many full moons 

that had passed

highlighting  landscape of dreams

scars of lapiz lazulli

purplish monotones blues

flashing diamond dusts

such powerful transgressions

tickle moi 

to my most desired freedom

that of

Silence of Aloneness

alone and exposed

to this sentimentality

my consistent LOVE

YOU only YOU

my CREATOR.

 

Poem No 2 By Swagatika S.

In the cascade of dew, wrap me in your coat;

Let the winter shiver while your love chokes my throat.

Let the kisses melt down the infinite goosebumps,

Come on dance to its beats while your heart pumps.

Let four eyes close and one be the dream,

Hold me tight while the breeze does scream.,

who knows if one more day you can listen to my soul’s roar,

In all accents known to my heart, “love me a li’l more.”

A Perceptive Response __ade caparas manilah

To Poem No. 2

though my amourous petals

be painfully stamped mutilated

inflicted with shivering chills

that one amorous gaze

suffices  like heaven

ahhhhhhhh…

why must i wish many many more

“I LOVE YOU”

when one has killed me to my perfect joy?

Poem No 3 By Swagatika S.

I belong here not,  oh,  calming breeze

Let the eyes melt,  make them not freeze

I stretch my lips,  but they never smile

My death might be here,  within a mile. 

They say ‘Soldiers don’t have any fear. ‘

They have never looked at our eyes, dear. 

We fear if ever we’ll wake up to a  day, 

To find ourselves in the lap of our moms and say

“The bullet doesn’t hurt ma,  I know I’ll die. 

But before I depart,  I mustn’t lie. 

You kissed my cheek,  my heart envied it. 

So,  touch my heart,  before it stops to beat. 

Your son died for millions,  ma,  don’t you cry. 

I topped my test,  feels good to die.”

So,  oh calming breeze,  I belong here not

Bring me some air from my distant remote hut. 

Tell my mom,  her son’s last wish

Is to sleep on her lap with a good night kiss. 

A Perceptive Response __ade caparas manilah

 To Poem No. 3

 i, like a dying mushroom

succumbed  to the burning heat

but memories of

your soft loving pecks

as i run in my tantrums

permanently carved

my lips to endless smiles

the loves the thoughts you drew

permanently close my eyes to paradise.

Comments:

DR JERNAIL S. ANAND

Poet/Philosopher

President/ Founder: Philosophique Poética

14440854_1190298497687975_7055452357439628450_n

Philosophique Poética has always inspired poetry, philosophy and art. Ade Caparas Manilah ‘s  Dotism series has taken our flight further. Women of Essence is another feature which focuses on the rising stock of feminists. Swagatika stars as a Poet of Potential. In the beginning of her career, her poetry is marked with a vision of reality which appeals to the common as well as uncommon intellect. Reading her poems one feels lost to the power of her imagination. These are baby steps but very confident of themselves. If I change the date to next 20 years, Swagatika would be one of the top poets of the world. I hope 20 is too long a time for her. Good Wishe

DR Jernail S. Anand

Founder President, Philosophique Poetics.

Critical Analysis:

Prof. Cijo Joseph Chennelil

Kristu Jyoti College of Management and Technology

Director: Philosophique Poética

22007934_491466917878396_3842141260921798346_n

 Swagatika ji,

Your three poems above do contain within their formats ideas related to life getting into an arena of imaginary vibrancy, unique suppleness, turbulent evocation and harmonious co-existence. The coincidence of life here is intermixed with life saving fate.The art is perceived here as the alpha and omega of life coming into fruition through elements so aesthetically fine-tuned and well-versed.The emotion of love plays hide and seek game with life, but the true life is everlasting and interminable and it can’t be wiped out from this world of many specialities and peculiarities.The personalities do get into that motion of different wavelengths working in coherence to produce the right result. The motto of life is philosophically contrived so that life itself doesn’t get into that pathway of shortsighted glory. The intricate version of life is intermingled with many discordant notes to keep in a state of readiness. There is no dearth of talent in this world to recapture the resplendency associated with the principles of humility and humanity. Still, there is that perceptible regret pulling the soul in opposite directions and that acute loneliness grips the heart in an enormous and substantial manner.Even then, nothing is lost in the wilderness because life is after all a work in progress. Kudos to you for composing such poems of regenerative and reconstructive nature.

Prof.Cijo Joseph Chennelil.

All Copyrights Reserved@

On 1st May 2019.

END

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s