The Gathering's Satire – Delhi Poetry Slam

The Gathering's Satire

By Ishita Chaturvedi


This dusk, I sat sighting the demise of my desires,
As it became the gathering’s satire.
What went wrong with my vision board?
I sang every note, struck every chord.

I conceitedly confessed my aims in vain,
My eyes melted, and the tears casted rain.
The goals were far too abstract for my league,
Said they,then alluded me to form a new intrigue.

One day, my vivid glaze will curl their toe
For the nonce, I shall retire from the elite show.
The spectators watched me with a violent grin,
As they portrayed my miseries on a colossal screen.

The season of harvest is over, what remains is dread.
I dare not grieve, with all the impedes ahead.
When I walk amidst the echoing waves,
I confide to them my earnest dismays.

The old acquaintances are long gone
The new ones are yet to perch my home.
This silence yearned for, not an epilogue,
The rant is the beginning of my dialogue.

Now, as I sign off from the gathering,
I promise to stir every soul withering
Who put me in incertitude at my pinnacle,
Preached me wrong, and became obstacle.

As I slipped into adversity’s uncivil embarkation
The doorstep had waited for my desertion
Knowing I wouldn’t last in the vicious theater
In a world of apathetic coevals, he is a rooter.

On my arrival, even the crying willow straightened;
Crinkling became blaring, since to run my feet hastened.
The breeze on my skin calmed the mayhem within;
I halted near a pool of future, to find me in win.

The truth was always veiled with uncertainty
When found, it glowed all over, crowning me with victory.
Through storm and strain, I’ve carved my way to this day,
Sitting in candlelit ray, ceaseless diligence sounds a little astray.

When From ignited daylight to diaphanous gloom,
I have given it all, from Noel Eve to mid June.
Again, I returned to the ruthless gathering with a blazing fire
Who would have thought this time they would find a new satire.


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