Rejection Letter

Received a (sweet) rejection letter from APM, towards the anthology proposed to be published. Here it is.

Dear Arpita,

We are writing to you with bad news :( Unfortunately, your poems have not been selected to feature in the Ultimate APM Anthology.

In total, we received 2,000+ poems from 550+ poets, and had to select only the top 50 poems from among them.

But we want you to know that your poem almost, almost made it.

We absolutely loved your poem, "My Plant", and it made the final shortlist for the anthology. 

Unfortunately, it just missed out :( Since your poem was so well-written, it's even harder to send you this email.

Which is why we wanted to say this to you:

We write poetry as well, and we've been rejected by magazines and anthologies numerous times (more than we'd like to admit!) And every time we get another rejection, it feels like the world is telling us that our poetry is not good enough, but guess what? We still write.

Because we get reminded in many different ways that we don't write well enough, that we're not good enough, but we're still here, and we're still writing, and that's what we want most for you. That you keep creating art. That you keep creating poetry that reflects who you really are, and you keep writing poetry that you want to read.

So please don't treat this email as a setback, and don't let it stop you from believing in yourself. Because, believe us, we believe in you, and we know (from our own experience, more than anything else) that as long as you keep writing, and keep pushing yourself to create poetry that you're proud of, your readers will find you.

Unfortunately, you haven't made it to this anthology, but there'll be many more opportunities in the future, and we hope that you take them up!

Lastly, we just wanted to say – thank you for sharing your poetry with us. It was a delight to get to read so many interesting and diverse poems, and we cannot thank you enough for being a part of that!

Please take care, please continue to explore your creativity, and please, please keep writing! As long as you keep going, you have the potential to achieve great things <3 

Lots of love,

Shantanu and Nandini

Co-founders, Airplane Poetry Movement

_________________________________________________________________________

Well, better luck to me next time. The rejection hasn't hurt me too much. But somewhere I was wishing for an acceptance, just so I could count myself among the hallowed group of poets and finally feel free calling myself one too. I know luck accompanies diligence, focus and labour; I wish more of that to me. While I really sent them the poems at the last moment, having decided earlier not be send because the standard of poetry is just so high, I still did. It knew I wouldn't make it but thought maybe I could by some plot of the stars. Regardless, life is beautiful and I am blessed. Thank you God. 

Here are the poems I had submitted:

My Plant

My plant is about to die

Its stem, lone and brown, sighs

Quivers when I cross by.

I haven’t watered it in days

Its leaves are crinkling dry

Yellowed, in its last grace.

I torture it a little, tear at the rotten bits

Dig the soil and shower a sprinkle,

Think to myself, now it’s fixed.

A moment later, a pool of water or

Superfluous wails perhaps, seep through

And collect lining the pot.

I say enough and pluck it out, its remains

The last clumps of life chase my path as

I throw it down the shaft as organic waste.

Once again I turn the mud and pat it out

These murdering hands at work, now make

A new grave for a new plant to take its place.

______________________________________________

Wishes

Can I go for a walk?

On my own? Wherever I wish to turn

I turn. However I wish to dress, I dress.

However I wish to sit, I sit and drink in

quick swigs of air and move like a tree.

Stare like a foolish moon

pause a bit, stretch and yawn, bend over to

examine fallen leaves on the ground.

You promise you wouldn’t be swayed?

I am splendorous nature, just taking a walk.

And you would know how to leave me alone.

Free.                        

My eyes have the dust of stars

And eons of sunsets sit on my cheeks

ripples from my mouth, shakes your boat

I am woman, you see.

Can I be myself? I am spring.

Even unwatered burst forth

with my flowers

I lie along with the grass

and you promise not step on me, trouble me,

your gaze upon my breasts, my fullness

or halt my profundity.

I tend to dream and vanish into the infinity

with the pink and purple of a dying day

and somehow know I am still loved.

And I would let my hair fly with the breeze

and not feel the need for a shroud

and if it rains, then so be it,

barefoot, I would walk home

soaking wet and

beneath a cloud.

__________________________________________________

Various Ways of Love

Love is jumping

without a thought

into the fire and back

charred, hugging

someone’s dreams with

a heart fuller than before.

Love is when

he made you famous.

He wrote three lines for you

two on your love

and one on how he can’t

get enough.

Love is a visitation

on a dead night, awakened

by a shattering of glass

and just so you can face

the dread of tomorrow

the warmth drawing you

lovingly back to bed.

Love is popularly called

a broken marriage

chipped hearts and

piles of folded truths

yet the guts to see it through.

Love is soft hands around

a weary neck, eyes gazing

at a father and thinking of him

an entire world.

Love is

my legs under your thigh,

your hand over my stomach,

my hand holding my book,

your hand alternating between

stroking my hair and staying still.

  

Love is

in all such little nooks

and hope filled crannies

where no actual words are used

no confessions told and

no actual love is ever made.

___________________________________________________________

Something in me

Something in me doesn’t want to sit

wants to keep going

and break into a run.

Some wheels under my feet

need little cranking

they trudge the weary weight of my bones

with love and no complaints.

I don’t see any visible road

only a desire that doesn’t exhaust

that compels the wagon to move

as far as possible, in all its tired turmoil

through pitted pasts and fallen attempts

marking only the journey

never revealing any destination.

Sometimes urges me to not worry

whether the dark unlit way ahead

the farthest my vision can see

would swallow or turn cold

but promises a strange succor

holding out something that I try and reach.

A something that seems quite like

that something in me. 

_______________________________________________________

Love??

Awash in your love

from head to toe,

this is how I stay now,

and never wish to let go.

But in a broken world,

we live out our leases

while hearts around us

are being shattered to pieces.

Then where does it all go,

those promises forever,

has anyone ever seen,

together, eternity ever?

Ask the many of love,

and at best they fumble,

there is no memory of it

without a fall or stumble.

So there it is my love,

we’ll take it as it comes,

if tomorrow we promise to love

the future is but only all

‘morrows’ sum.