Biography of Rani Turton
Independant writer and poet originally from Delhi, now in France. Genre: Postcolonial (IWE) .
These poems are a selection of years of writing. They are all under strict copyright. If you want to use any material in the poems for publication, teaching, scolarship or reference they must be credited. No commercial usage is permitted. Copying, scraping or plagiarising is not appreciated. Poems that appear in print for anthologies or textual use need written permission. Thank you.
Rani Turton Poems
Silence. Long moments that stretch into years. Restrained words, sometimes gaps where names should be. Words, prayers, songs, imagination inflamed by memory.
A Mad Bird Was I
I walked down that lonely road That sinuous, torturous bend You know how I hated The cold, the distance, my thoughts.
You'll Be My Knight In Shining Armour
You'll be my knight in shining armour Shining so bright I can hardly see The sunlight because of thee
A Niche For Me In Your Heart
If you have some place Some place you could well spare Make a niche for me in your heart To warm me within your space
A Wooden Door, A Metal Key
A plain wooden door, nerve-ridden A carved metal key, in my pocket hidden. And secrets that lie behind that blank facade
Artisan Of Words
I am an artisan of words Which I sculpt, chisel and fashion the way I can I am a creator of worlds; I pour my emotion into the poems I write.
And Eternity Did Not Push Me Away
Starlight, moonlight, candles burning bright Oil lamps with flickering wicks All this symbolises night
My Father, With His Arthritic Hands
My father, with his arthritic hands Closes his door, picks up the bow Tucks the bit under his chin Tunes it real low
Dusk comes, softly, slowly, like a shy bride Dusk comes with a golden-red veil as if to hide The diamonds in the hair, the khol in the eyes Heat arises from the earth and flies
Analysing That Pain
Like a soft breeze that, barely there, sifts the papers on my table. A window, open, and the curtains move gently. A memory, that should not have been there. An emotion that barely acknowledged should have known better.
Draw The Blinds, Time
Draw the blinds, Time Its time enough and enough Time to grieve: I do not want The sun to weighten closed lids;
A Storm Will Arise Tonight
A storm will arise tonight. The wind has started ruffling the pages of my book The open window creaks, curtains billow.
In these closing years of your life Each time I see your white hair that was once so black Your body bent that once walked so straight I remember you throwing me up in your arms
A Clock, A Street, A Tower
There is a clock on a city street These pavings that have often known my feet There is a clock, a street and a tower That is the mystery of love's power.
Questions And Answers
Under a dripping grey sky
Sad, soaking, shivering and wet
I wanted to know why
Why and why and why
On that rainy day when you said goodbye
On that sodden day you went away
I had to walk on, forlorn.
Now years later under a metallic sky