Poetry in the city.

[By Mayank Austen Soofi]

While Delhi passes through one of its most tragic times in living history, it has citizens distilling their experiences into art.

Isolated within home in Kailash Colony, actor Siddharth Sethi, 20, is away from fellow actors and rehearsals, away from the audience and the stage. “Theatre was my escape into a reality other than mine,” he says on a WhatsApp video chat. With the city in lockdown, he is flailing about in only one reality.

This reality too is rich, comprising of his “dada,” parents, and younger sister, Suhani, who is holding his mobile for this photo shoot. There are online classes to stay busy—Mr Sethi is a literature student in Delhi University’s Hansraj College. Plus, he recently acted in two plays performed on zoom; the virtual audience were encouraging college mates and folks from DU’s “theatre circuit.” He also penned a poem in the ongoing isolation “as a let out to reassure myself that this too shall pass.” Mr Sethi chose an uncommon word for the title. The Delhi Walla won’t give away its meaning. Go and flip through your heirloom dictionary or read the poem.

Kadota

This fire burns my belly
The cries mar my sleep
These silences give me shivers
The spirits wound me deep

Away from the chains of my being
My freedoms lure me strong,
Rotting in my sickness, desolate
I struggle every breath,
I struggle to belong,

But not anymore.

My skies crave my warmth
My seas swallow my desires
These thorns on my skin, thrive on my memories
My pains suck my soul, they loathe my fallacious attire.

My fears conspire against me
With the evils that reside in my eyes
My sanity give me shivers
My truths worship my lies

But not anymore.

My boundaries set my lengths
My eternity fiddles with my hope
My touch, longs for a vent
My sighs, my desires grope.

Barren deserts mock my stories,
With glee, they imitate my tears,
The storms sing me lullaby
The tot within though,
Restless it appears.

But not anymore.

My chest enthrones my past;
With pride, with power, with care
My touch comforts my soul
On my body, my scars lay bare.

I’m struggling,
for the good I believe
For I’m struggling for myself,
against myself
To be who I am,
and not who I am.