Darshanika Panda is an Indian poet, lawyer, socio-legal researcher, and classical dancer. Her interdisciplinary background of art, academia, and advocacy shines through the introspective poetry.
Panda is a self-described “firm believer in the power of storytelling.” Her poetry touches the subjects of belonging, self-image, and the vulnerability of existing in the imperfections.
The poet paints familiar, intricate pictures that are highly personal, yet relatable through the sheer shared human experience. Her work emerges through the struggle of empathy and creative turmoil.
It seems that poetry is a way for Panda to express her true self, freed from being perceived or categorized. There is a vast array of emotions, feelings, experiences, and paradoxes that find their way through arranged words.
HUSH LITTLE BABY
DARSHANIKA PANDA
Sometimes I open my eyes, desperate for a glimpse.
But I never see her hands, her body, or the silhouette I once knew.
In the dark, all I see are a pair of deep, blue, sparkling eyes.
But my mother’s eyes were never blue; they were a shade of emerald green.
She never really sang, for voice was a gift God never gave her.
So who is it I see?
Who is it I hear?
Who stands by my bed at night, singing and watching me sleep?
Who knows the secrets of my heart, and yet remains mysteriously elusive?
I tell myself it is my memory.
I tell myself it is my grief.
But neither grief nor memory remember lullabies like this.
A FRENZIED PLACE
DARSHANIKA PANDA
My mind’s been on manic edges for a while
madness creeps in slowly, like fog veiling the light
stillness teeters on the edge of a knife
as shadows dance in and out of flickering light.
Blurred are the lines between days and nights
chaos holds me close, with an embrace so tight
the highs and lows spin me into a haze
with each turn I go deeper into the maze.
I am pulled to places far and wide
as frenzy reigns in my mind
no rules to bind; instead
adrenaline fueling euphoria’s flight
to then crash with just wreckage in sight.
I apologize for the scars I leave in my wake
only to return tomorrow and repeat the same
maybe it’s in my destiny to lose
doesn’t matter how valiantly I fight those battles.
I often feel like bursting into flames
then scattering like ashes in the rain,
each time I inch closer to the abyss, I question-
am I doomed to endure this relentless pain?
CRACKED PORCELAIN
Darshanika panda
Funny how shiny an image the mirror reflects each day.
Funny how wide my smile stretches.
Funny how the world mistakes my silence for ease.
Funny how my friends chime in “She has it all planned.”
Funny how even I forget who I am.
I’ve played this role so long
the script began rewriting itself:
a thousand versions,
a fleeting audience,
but the curtain never falls without entertaining everyone.
Some nights, I remove makeup with salty tears
washing my arms until I forget they’re mine;
sometimes I catch a weird feeling in my chest
maybe it’s my untethered heart with no ribs to protect.
My feet, now tired, drag in search of
softer pastures and quieter prayers;
the hope of finding an oasis in dry desert.
Let me quench my thirst.
Let me feel unburdened.
Let me be free.
Until then:
please excuse the porcelain mask,
it’s cracking underneath all this weight.
Read our “Focus” issue in full
Our August issue features 17 visual artists, photographers, and poets whose work taught us about relentlessness, resilience, and clarity. “Focus” became the chosen theme for this last month of summer.
We’re a team of writers using our craft to spotlight art in its most honest form. RAWGUE. started as a bi-monthly editorial experiment where each issue’s theme is dictated by the submitted work, thus removing editorial bias from the equation and preserving a more raw approach. We focus on all forms of poetry: written, photographed, painted, drawn, and filmed.
