Introducing Azura's poetry

Azura Tyabji

April 2019

This video by the Poetry V Log was recorded in 2019 after Azura's return from Mumbai, New Delhi, Bikaner, Jaisalmer and Jodhpur. She speaks of her experience in the land of her paternal ancestry, and recites a poem about it.

As 2018/2019 Youth Poet Lauriate for Seattle, her poetry has been compiled and published in her book Stepwell.

Here are examples of Azura’s writing before she was nominated the Seattle Youth Poet Lauriate title:

Hero – A poem

They called him when he came back.

Although he distinctly remembered not signing up for this.

Only being

not the time

20 years of age and without a flaw

Strong, determined, a degree in his dreams

He had places to be and sweetheart to see everyday

when he came home from work.

One day they said to him

We need you.

And that was it.

Put on a ship to sail untamed seas to a foreigner’s land to fight for the

red, white, and blue.

Put an end to the false supremacy spreading over Europe like ink on paper, like a disease.

He agreed, he said when will this be over?

I don’t know, no one knows

So he fought and emptied his gun and let fear curl wisely around his hands,

constantly.

The safe shackles of a prisoner.

Meanwhile at Hanford they were brewing a secret,

the supposed suspicious are locked behind chain link fences,

and all the men without flaw were gone.

And then they said that the most beautiful day was when Little Boy was dropped on that port city and when their white flag was drawn high into the air for everyone to see.

Afterwards he visited the remains and a family with charred treasures and tired smiles took him in

The stranger at the gate, a man who wore red, white, and blue..

Don’t touch them.

But there was kindness in their eyes.

I swear, they’re dangerous.

The soldier came back one day and discovered that

Fear was still coiled

stubbornly,

around his wrists,

Even after the sounds of bombs dropping was replaced by birds and townsfolk singing

We won, we won!

However his children began to notice that their father got scared around loud noises

and slept with his eyes open staring at nothing but the ceiling.

But we won.

Good guy, bad guy, black, white, right, wrong.

For a nation whose army is its first and favorite child,

the cycle will never stop.

More bullets littering alien streets.

More power.

More planes.

More bombs.

More guns.

More soldiers.

More innocence to fear.

We are eating ourselves

from the inside out

while digging deeper into this quicksand without

even realizing it.

And even while the whole world sinks

There will always be

a need to be the last man standing.

- Azura Tyabji, 2013 –

Kaleidoscope Eyes – A poem

People used to say that the earth was flat, and that the moon was made of cheese and the sun a blazing ball of butter. People thought that if you found the end of a rainbow, you would be doused in riches and fame by a pot of gold, or that you could sleep on a bed of clouds.

Until this facade was shattered by some crazy scientist who somehow proved to the world that the moon is not Swiss cheese, and that the earth is not flat. All that time spent chasing fading rainbows and searching for mystical unicorns is also proven and labeled as "childish" and "fake".

Clouds grew grey and wispy when not sat upon. Adults don't believe in Irish folklore anymore. Enthusiasm is being replaced with dull, literary realistic thinking.

What happened?

Growing up is like a long, winding road that starts in a crib and ends at a graveyard. Adults are in the middle, and suddenly want to turn around to the good old days of see-saws and water balloon fights. But it took so long to achieve their wisdom and wrinkles, and they can’t turn their car around.

However.

If the few of us who still possess flickers of eager immaturity, maybe we can pull back those cars, and restore the lost facade. If I can look through a pair of kaleidoscope glasses, and see the world in a bizarre pattern of strikingly flamboyant colors; maybe I'll feel at home again.

Or finally ride an unicorn or find a cheery, green draped leprechaun

Or close my eyes and sprawl onto a white, fluffy cloud and walk to the edge of the world.

If we could do these seemingly inhumane things, the entire world would become a kid again.

Maybe all we need is a bite of moon cheese.

April 2012

Presenting A New Season – A poem

Fallen leaves from maple trees

Litter the ground with memories.

Raking yards, roasted turkeys,

Flickering flames of newly lit fires

All filed with the bittersweet pleasure of a new season.

Cold winds whisk away the sizzling memories of summer away

Until it has been degraded to a simple wisp

Of comforting sunshine

Smells of Thanksgiving

Waft through the cobblestone streets

As the light crunch of your boots

Form a soothing rhythm against the pavement

Trees catch the fading rays of amber sunshine

Their bright leaves creating light of their own

You pause

Taking in the beautiful scenery

Slowly, you are consumed by the bliss of fall.

A Conversation

Writer's Workshop, 12 May 2012

I’m not interested, I grumbled frustratedly, sinking further down into my seat

You should play an instrument, Azura, my persistent mother insisted you need to.

I told you, I don’t play music! I snapped.

You're lucky I’m letting you choose, she replied irritably.

Letting me choose? I retorted angrily ..fine, I choose the triangle.

That’s not an option, Mom responded, her voice clipped with annoyance. Obviously we weren’t getting anywhere.

Are the maracas open? I asked sarcastically, crossing my arms in a defiant pouting position.

What about the accordion? she suggested.

No.

Flute?

No

Guitar?

No! Just drop it!

She never dropped the subject. I will be playing the accordion this summer.