At the touch of Love everyone becomes a poet by ravindarchidurala


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									                Published in 2012 by Wordjar Publishing

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever
 without written permission from the publisher except for the case of brief
             quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.



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                       Wordjar Publishing. London

                     Edited by: (Wordjar Publishing)

            Designed by: Kelvin Akposoe (Wordjar publishing)

  I would like to thank everybody in my life. No matter how big or small a part
 you play in my life, you all inspire me. First and foremost I would like to thank
 God for opening my mind and inspiring me with his creations. Also my family,
I miss and love you all, I am the person I am today because of you. Every single
   friend that has supported me in what at the time seemed to be just a dream.
 Most of all I would like to thank my best friend and soul mate for having such
         belief in everything I do, no matter how ambitious it may seem.

‘At the touch of Love everyone becomes a poet’ – Plato
Up until very recently this was nothing but an unthinkable fantasy for me. As a
poet, I have found that a lot of what I write had roots sown in adversity. It didn’t
matter if the poem was about political state of affairs, the human persona or
romance; it all stemmed from a negative place. However over the last couple
of years I started to come across a different type of poetry. Prose who’s soul was
written with a different coloured ink. Its words carried warmth that pulled on the
heart strings of its readers and gave them a sense of hope.

I embarked on a journey to find this ink in the hope that I could integrate a new
tone into the voice of my words, and it was on this journey that I came across
Kiri. Last year Wordjar created a competition to celebrate national poetry day.
The criterion was simple, submit a few of your poems for us to read, and tell
us about your ambitions as a writer. If you were successful you would have the
chance to become one of Wordjar’s first solo authors, Kiri was one of the two
winners of the completion. As soon as I had read her work, I immediately knew
that it was the type of poetry that people would relate to. She wrote from their
perspective. Her poems didn’t carry any resonance of the ego; she was telling
their story using her words.

I met her and we talked about the construction of this very book that you are
reading right now. She told me that she wanted to create ‘Another Point of View’
so that the world could be given a window through which they could look
into the reality of other people’s lives. The journey from what we had originally
planned to release to the publication in front of you now was a long one; and it
was through this journey that we got closer to Kiri and she became a part of the
Wordjar family.

I think what Plato meant by that statement was this; we can all be poets by
choice. However when a person comes in contact with love, our lives become
poetry and our every action is another beautiful verse. I am of the opinion that
after you finish reading this book you will realise Kiri is one of those poets.

                                               Welcome to ‘Another Point of View’

                                                             Francis Xavier Labiran


Haiti Survivor                2
Individuality                 4
Split Personality             6
The Decision                  8
Another Anyone                10
The Earth’s Disguise          12
Sunrise in Agra               14
Words                         16
About the Author              19
Another Point of View
       by Kiri Gray
Haiti Survivor

Cries echoing like tinnitus,
Plaguing the conscience of our destroyed souls.

Inside crumbled walls.
Donations to gratify your own pride,
Tomorrow you can live your life,
But my loved ones died.

Even those faces with sincerity are insignificant in my eyes.
The tremors shattered our spirits
How can anyone pick up the pieces?
My whole life slaughtered to nothingness,
Yet the world carries on regardless.

Do you want to try on my battered shoe?
It wouldn’t fit your unspoiled foot.
Amongst us, lost hope, and violence,
Humanitarian aid is what they call it,
Relief ‘efforts’, to no avail.
Too late for rescue, a burden on your day,
The gutter or the kerb is where I lay my head,
While you tuck yourselves into your secure bed.

And you can close the door to your mansion,
Because the seas that separate us are extensive.
It doesn’t deserve a place in your mind,
Because you cant see life through my eyes,
Faced with this ordeal you would be traumatised,
But it is not yours, this is my life.

    “In a Westernised country where natural
disasters are rare, I tried to possess the heart-
  ache of a survivor of the Haiti Earthquake,
   which killed tens of thousands in 2010. It
   seems easy to give a few pounds and our
 condolences to those affected but the distress
and experiences they suffered are fortunately
not usually ones we will ever have to come to
                   terms with.”


Pure we come into this earth,
But like a seed we are nurtured,
By both sin and morality.
Influenced by temptation, but reminded by our conscience,
The branches we spout determine our soul’s existence,
In a place we can’t comprehend,
We contemplate the meaning of each action;
From the simple smile to a stranger,
To bumping shoulders as we pass.

The hope of finding the answer before we leave,
To why we walked this path that intertwines with so many others,
To create the complexity of our planet.
Each step waiting to be taken,
Altering the future,
To what could have and sometimes should have been,
And The fruits which grow from our tree of life,
Feed the ones around us and help cultivate their actions,
As we feed from theirs too.
Giving rotten fruits to enemies and the nourishing to those we love,
Whether intentional or misguidedly, each day we smile or frown.
We co-habit this earth breathing the same air,
But we each appreciate it differently,
But all with the same hopeful ending.

   “This expresses the differences in how we
wander through our imagination over things we
    may do or that happen to us, and the
different views we own. How we interact with
 others and take different paths and decisions,
  but universally we all tend to speculate our
       purpose and reason for existence.”

Split Personality

I am happiness, I live so carefree,
Your negativity can try but can’t penetrate deeply.

        My name is sadness, I’m consumed by self-doubt,
I need your compliments to erase my clouds.

       When the sun shines, my heart skips gladly,
and my smile is permanent and infects those around me.

        The rain falls hard and my heart always suffers,
I’m flooded in disappointment and can’t console myself in others.

       I wake up fresh and willing for anything,
my mind is clear and I thrive on energy.

         My thoughts escape me and wrestle my heart,
Interfering with my dreams, I pick myself apart.

I live for the moment and fall in love fast,
and nothing seems too far from my determined grasp.

        I stumble and fall, always with a crash,
and the bruises and wounds always seem to last.

        I’m surrounded by people, raring to try new things
Sharing jokes and memories.

        I need to be alone with my thoughts, evaluate my feelings
find some time to contemplate life’s meaning.

        I have no regrets, everything happens for a reason

        I wonder all the time if it could have been different…

“This is more personal and shows the raw hu-
   man emotion that can sometimes contradict
 itself in personality. There may be some days
where nothing can bring you down but others
  when the world is on top of you, and this is
a reflection of both sides of me, and relatable
                  to many people.”

                       The Decision

             You are yet to take your first breath.
       My blood flows through your unformed organs,
          The energy of a soul, life, in my stomach.
                Conceived by a malicious act,
Forced between my thighs by the stranger called your dad.
 If I allow you your face, will you possess those evil eyes?
            You are an eternal bruise in my womb,
                  But you are still half mine.
                Can I dedicate my life to you,
               Knowing how you came to be,
         A constant reminder, of what he did to me…

 “The reactions I receive from this poem are
  usually strong. Although it is only short the
  depth captured on such controversial topics
 always hits hard and I wanted to show that
abortion, although I don’t personally agree with
  it, is something that is not always so simply
                 black and white.”

              Another Anyone

              Systematic structure,
    Keeps blissful ignorance exhausted.
            You can fight for a cause,
        But it’s like you already lost it,
    Cos you’re sat in the devils pocket,
                  Tryna preach.
            Take a look in the mirror,
        before you make your speech.
Words are powerful, but actions speak louder.
  You could have a Tannoy to the world,
          But never lead by example.
     It’s like the matrix is your comfort,
        Rebelling makes you part of it,
       Cos you still fall into the hands,
               Every time you trip.

             Sometimes it’s a set up,
             But you’re happy to slip.
              Look at the wreckage,
        this landscape has turned into.
               Mother nature’s ill,
         look what she’s been through.
     If you open your heart to the pain,
             and eyes to the scenery.
        Just know that family and love,
    Are the most precious commodities.
             The gold on your neck,
             And the ice on ya chest,
       Don’t equate to what’s inside it.
           You’re as full as your soul,
           nothing more, nothing less.
           So I observe my reflection,
          It hurts to see it so different,
        To The one I used to recognise,
          Before heartaches insistence.

         But even if it’s un-attained,
  I know what I want more than I used to,
 The past may have shaped who I am today,
         But the present represents,
          who I’ll be in the future.
               Who are you?
      “I witness people preaching morals and
 self-righteousness every day but encompassing
contradictions in their behavior, particularly in
  under-privileged groups. This is a frustrated
 wake up call to the fact that material things
  can be used as a trap to keep you in that
 part of society’s structure and distract from
   the real value of a home and family and
 relationships. It’s asking you to take a look at
  yourself instead of watching others or buy-
ing into something, and that it’s never too late
 to change your attitude. It is also me taking
 a look at myself and reaching my own un-
derstanding and maturity after my eyes being
                   opened to it all.”

              The Earth’s Disguise

           Gone are the green wisps,
           Sprouting through the soil,
       That God created to look so Royal.
      Now dead, under the bricks they lay,
  So the winds don’t hear the songs they play.

          Mother Nature’s instruments,
  Her Earth has been stripped of its innocence.
          Trees chopped in their prime
      To reveal the wrinkles of their spine.

            A landscape built up,
          With minds too distracted,
              Our serenity lost,
      And we don’t know how to grasp it.

               A world so crammed,
              But full of empty souls,
Eternally lost behind the world that we’re shown.
                 Dull is the ground,
              Armoured by concrete,
             So the lungs of the earth,
           Fight for breath in sufferance.

          The pollution of mankind,
        That has shadowed our home,
          Physically and internally,
        Corruption demanding control.

         And we’re slaves to the greed,
            That hungers the earth,
        Through the ignorance were fed,
             From our day of birth.

      “We are constantly distracted by the
  latest material commodities hoping that they
     will complete us, and killing the world’s
       resources in the process, never really
taking time to find serenity in nature. We are
 conditioned by corporations and institutions as
 soon as we enter the world and never really
    take the time to appreciate the natural.”

Sunrise in Agra

If my emotions I felt from this vision, were riches
They could rejuvenate this dirty earth
That lies beneath my feet
If the sensations that I’m feeling
Conducted a tune
It would dance in my ears
Like a beautiful birdsong
Drowning out the noise pollution
That saturates the air
The sun beats down to create pearls of sweat
And adds to the culmination of spices in my nose
The smiles on these poor faces look wealthier
Than any that pass me on the concrete streets
Head to toe in designer labels
The fine fabrics strewn across brown skin
Brighter than any shop window I’ve seen
Lavish colours draped from every corner
And ornate bells decorate mucky toes
Cheerfully skipping and jingling on bare feet
Hand in hand, rows of beaming grins
Enchanting laughter prancing around me
I can’t understand their words
But they sound contented all the same
Even though none of their possessions
Are worth much at all
It’s captivating to see such satisfaction from life
And in the backdrop of this scene the most mesmerising structure
Endeavoured to create beauty
From thousands of diligent hands
Such time and attentiveness it seems
Would never have a place in the world we’re in now
And I appreciate so much the reflection
That walking here has helped me find.

 “I traveled India a few years ago and one of
the most memorable experiences I have was my
 walk from my hotel to the Taj Mahal. I left
 before sunrise to avoid the peak tourist hours
and was in awe of how crowds of people lived
 and played in such community in comparison
    to back home in the UK. The beautiful
   architecture of the Taj Mahal against the
   contrasting run-down shops and houses was
  compelling and I felt so comfortable and at
          home in such a foreign place.”


          Words are my art,
        My heart is my poem,
 Words are what make me vulnerable,
     Cos my words are so open.

        Words are my lifeline,
          They tell my story,
    They can validate my actions,
    Articulate my pain, my glory!

      They came from my heart,
        When I told you three,
     They pierced through mine,
      When yours cut too deep.
          They’ve fed my ego,
      They’ve bruised my spirit,
         But my soul restored,
  Cos of the words within this(mind).

          Words of anger,
       They’ve spat in my face.
         Words from friends,
         Have kept me sane.

      Words that are whispered
          Can turn Chinese,
     And twist a knife in the back,
     When they’re misconceived.

       Words are so beautiful,
      They can speak the truth,
But words can lie and manipulate you.

           Words can teach,
         Or mislead you astray,
Your actions can contradict your words,
   ‘You didn’t mean what you said’.

       Words can have intention,
      Or they can honestly plead,
 ‘Forgive me please, I didn’t mean it!’.
              Words are all talk,
           Show me your actions,
                   But I admit,
          I still love to hear them,
    When you’re giving me that backstroke.

      Yeah, you’ve got a way with words,
   You know how to play games with words,
        You can cover up your secrets,
            Without saying a word.

         Words can care, or not give a ….,
           Discriminatory, hatred filled,
         Passionate, sincere or ambiguous.
I’ll say what I want cos words are free apparatus.

       They conduct the sweetest music,
           Speak the realest lyrics,
         Or sing commercial chorus,
         That influences our children.

        They can sell almost anything,
               Even your soul,
       When words lead to consequence,
            You can lose control.

     Words can mean everything, nothing,
            Structure personality.
         Some are better left unsaid,
          Some embody profanity.

       Hear with not just with your ears,
            Listen with your eyes,
         For words alone can dictate,
         To an ignorant state of mind.

   So take caution with the ones you absorb,
   The ones your tongue chooses to exercise,
        Let them come from your heart,
         Cos your words are your own.

 “I believe language is the most important tool
 anyone can possess and this explains my love
for words and the beauty in them as well as
 the lies they can conjure and the hurt they
  can cause. The power of words is endless.”

                               About the Author

                               Name: Kiri Gray
                             DOB: 11 August 1986

  Since her first plausible scribble Kiri constantly had a pen in hand, whether
drawing or writing. She can even remember the very first time she scrawled her
 name at the age of three with the encouragement of her mum, and being com-
pletely chuffed with herself having prime spot on the fridge door. She believes it
 was the pride she received from showing family her writing that inspired her to
keep doing so. As a child she would write poems and create small books as gifts
                                   to her parents.

Her creativity was transferable across various writing mediums from short stories
  to poetry and songs, as her love for lyrics swelled with her passion for music.
  “I’d sit, singing my heart out to Michael Jacksons Dangerous or M People and
 UB40, when album covers used to include lyrics, then it transferred to rap as I
 got older.” Her timid nature deterred her from singing her lyrics, so instead she
began adapting them to prose and found the structure and flows easier and more
                               variable in expression.

 She went on to study Journalism at Sunderland University, continuing her jour-
 ney as a writer, and with poetry as a hobby, had over a hundred poems piling
 up. After moving to London just a few years ago, she realised poetry had a di-
verse and expanding scene and decided to start a blog to host some of her work,
  gaining recognition and exceptional responses from her honest and engaging

With a strong view on society and numerous relationship and life experiences,
  Kiri’s pen is fuelled by her emotion and reaction to the world and wants her
 message to be heard as much as she wants her writing to be read. There is no
real agenda behind it, other than raw emotion from someone who cares about
the world, and sees the cloud behind the smoke. “I don’t write for an audience
or to a structure, I write because I feel, it just happens to be that my feelings are
                                 artistic on paper.”

Poems In This Collection

     Haiti Survivor
    Split Personality
     The Decision
   Another Anyone
  The Earth’s Disguise
    Sunrise in Agra

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