Architectural Poetry Competition, 6th Cycle floated by Architectural Journalism & Criticism Organisation announces the Winning Entries.
Theme described for the Competition was - ‘Learnings from Nature’
Global warming and the resultant threat to human civilization have made the development model of the industrial society obsolete and we need better and sustainable practices in all fields of life. Therefore, we need to be sensitive to the balance in nature and respect the basic elements: light, sound, earth, sky, and water as they are the basis of life on this planet. Traditional architecture has always lived with nature, but the urban society today needs to relearn from nature to adopt sustainable practices in the urban landscape. The calling of this poetry contest is one’s own supported thoughts for the main contention of the field of architecture: respect the environment and be with nature in all your endeavors.
The 'Special Mention Award - I' goes to Al Mariam Ul Aasia Kamal Basha, Delopus Pvt Ltd Workshop entrant.
'Musings of a mother' It is through the picture in front that she saw it.
In an attempt to retry the beauty,
An idea,
A clockwork.
It is through the concrete that went below ground that she saw it.
A system reworked,
An anatomy evolved,
A hold.
It is through the beams that she saw it,
A pattern redrawn hastily,
Despite the abundance of time,
A splendor devoured.
It is through the fogged-up air that she saw it,
The derailment of the awe,
By those same people who were once awestruck,
Upon the elegance of nature.
It is through the lost air,
The stained water,
The adrift ocean,
The seethed ice,
The charred forest,
That she saw a scarred earth,
As she stood atop skyscrapers towering over the clouds,
As she stood under the taunting flickers of light,
As she stood over peeled linoleum floor,
Amidst the chaos of concrete and steel,
Amidst the war for a better world and the thriving of a worse one,
And imagined her mercy for the beings of yesteryears – the mercy of mother nature herself
And wondered,
Who wore the garland better?
The 'Special Mention Award - II' goes to Tahoora Shaikh
‘The Sky Beneath’
He looks at the sky
And gapes at the birds
The birds soaring away
The freedom they hold
In their fluttering wings
Is a longing the boy knows not
He looks at the sky
And then looks at the ground
Making his way throughout
He calls for himself
Gets called from behind
And forgets to find his way
The way that he follows
The way that they lead
The way that seems to exist
Doesn’t look enough
Needs more to it than just this.
But what more than the letters, the numbers, the colors
That dance in front of him
What lies in the skies, the earth and the light
The sun that hangs above
What more could he learn
What more could he see
What more could he understand
Where more would he find
Than the rigid forest
That doesn’t allow him to be
Where else would he go
Into the void?
To learn his truer being
To be for once
The one he saw
When he looked at the sky...
Certificate of Appreciation_1: Jyothi Hiremath
"The summer you reminded me of my favourite color."
A wisp of lavender, a dash of honey, and a sprinkle of warmth.
That is what Mother Nature smelled of.
Under the mahogany trees in the hot summer of a brand new world,
An epiphany.
I reminisce my surroundings.
The scent of freshly cut grass, I listen to the cuckoo’s mating call,
That is all it takes to bask in your presence, dear mother, to know that one is falling in love with you all over again.
As I read my Shakespeare and Dickens,
I lay down, head in your lap.
"The sun irritated my eyes" I whine, and you blush a shade brighter than the star I was just annoyed by.
I remember you crying over the fault in our stars.
I did not understand a single motif of these worlds, for I was just a kid with dreams and hopes,
Just like you were.
Nature, all glorious and fresh.
Until capitalism took your charms away
Until revolution demanded that your roots be swayed to hurray.
Although I promised you all flawless stars and not a corrupted virtual world, you believed time heals man's destruction caused by greed and in-sensitization.
More than that, I remember you showering rains, little droplets kissing my cheek just right after.
Years have come and years have gone by,
Oh, my beloved mother,
I still however, remember how you guessed my favorite color.
I smiled at you, for we familiarize with each other.
I have had a strange affinity towards periwinkles, ever since.
The truth be told, at times I forget what my favourite color was.
When I fumbled for higher numbers
That is all my mind let me see,
Looked away, when I wasn't humbled by you.
I remember, I remember,
It was the end of winter of December, and I had elaborate plans for us, together.
Your snow skies looked better with my scarf, than with any man's will to feed those who starve.
False promises and cruel politics, faceless aims and undone objectives,
Nothing happened, for years and years.
While you were being forgotten, like I, my favourite color.
Yet you bestowed upon, your kindness and shine, while the years took your life.
Nothing remained, for years and years.
No glory, no part of you left fresh.
Welcome again, my dear mother.
It is now the summer of our dystopian fantasy world, and my garden is yet again, in full bloom.
Beach dress, bamboo slippers, periwinkle bracelet, I walk with you, hand in hand, not one regret.
A wisp of lavender, a dash of honey, and a sprinkle of warmth.
That is all that is needed to remind me of the summer of our world
Where you and I both co-existed, a long way before civilization and mankind became your only threat.
Little did I know that is all that is needed
For you and I, to live in harmony, in all peace and tranquil.
For you and I, to forever and always remember our favourite color.
Certificate of Appreciation_2: Ruchika Deshpande, Delopus Pvt Ltd Workshop entrant.
What is a house?
Gleaming lights, Modular furniture, Minimal decor, Oh, so high-end!
But what is a house without sun-lit courts, shaded balconies, and a natural blend?
Bay and clerestory windows, they do let in the light,
But what is a house without the jali windows that respond to the desert’s heat plight?
Box windows and louvers, they do wipe out the harsh sun, wind, and pests,
But what is a house without a protruding chajja where singing birds nest?
Pivoted windows and awnings, they do waive water and keep the decks so urbane,
But what is a house without a balcony that dances under the pitter-patter of rain?
Fly-ash bricks, concrete, and clear glass walls, Oh, so crisp!
But what is a house without those vernacular walls and uneven straw roof wisps?
Steel wool insulation, fiber-glass batts, they do build a tight air seal,
But what is a house without Trombe walls that respond to the tundra’s icy squeal?
Landscaped walls and vertical gardens, they do add the magic of green,
But what is a house without self-sprouting creepers that rule your compound’s screen?
Kitchen chimneys, inductions, and exhausts, they do wipe out the smoke in your space,
But, what is a house without a traditional brick stove and the fire’s warmth in place?
Ceramic tiles and glass tiles, Oh! So soft on the feet,
But what is a house without an antibacterial earth floor that nullifies the heat?
ACs and water-coolers, they do maintain temperature and feel cool,
But what is a house that’s not cross-ventilated and humidified by a water pool?
It’s all high-end and ultra-modern, yet these have a high carbon footprint,
My dear friends, are we stripped off a house with a vernacular, natural imprint?
It's bright, it's shimmery, it's all cool by the pool
But, this house no more recites the odes of croaking, and the music of a lotus bloom
It’s crisp, it’s raw, yet its all smoke, dust and waste
And, what is a house that doesn’t worship nature and curates waste in haste?
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