Performance Garbage Poetry
[Music]
garbage
speaks to me through poems it allows me
to reflect
not just on what i buy recycle trash but
it
also allows me to make sense of waste it
allows me to understand
why do we feel repulsed why do we resist
why do we refuse why is my clean not
your clean
why is garbage cloaked in a layer of
anonymity
and invisibility why we see what we want
to see
it also allows me to look at the city’s
landscape and our relationship
we have with waste and people who work
in waste
my poems don’t have a structure my
thoughts do hold on its own
while everyone takes action in their own
setting or context
poetry for me has a promise for engaging
in citizen activism
so here’s one of my poems plastics
the wonder product innovative and
versatile
with the perfect voice and purpose that
can be transformed
moulded extruded fitted fabricated
fashioned engineered pressed
plastics the wonder product is all
around
it is everywhere making it indispensable
in the name of hygiene durability
longevity safety and ease of use
plastics the wonder product is suddenly
morphing
showing its ugly site instigating
provoking blowing with the wind bouncing
flying happy and high disfiguring the
landscape
a graveyard of unmet promises
plastics the wonder product is suddenly
morphing
showing its ugly side instigating
provoking plastics the wonder product
is caught in a rushing stream swimming
swirling coiling twisting
depicting its ugly side distressing
lakes reverse
oceans plastics
the wonder product suspended in water
swarms of pieces bottles bags
floating fouling clogging confusing
burning poisoning choking strangling
endangering plastics
the wonder product is teasing testing
taunting plastics
the wonder product is suddenly morphing
have you stopped to take notice
so here’s my next poem
i want you i’m demanding
i can complete you i’ll make your life
easier
i’ll make your life simpler i want you
i’m attractive i’m an addiction i will
overpower you i will give you instant
gratification you warned me
now i’m a victim to your abuse
you are choking me and my relationships
i feel like i have cinder blocks pulling
me
down you want me you love to hurt me
in subtle ways you can never really go
away
for you are in me and all the things
i wear eat drink play turn on sleep and
use
oh plastic you were toxic yet so
attractive
or plastic i underestimated you
you are keeping me hostage in the name
of convenience
your love is ruthless but i am done
this is it i am breaking free
in my own way i will go against the tide
one day at a time one thing at a time
a bag a cup a bottle a straw
or plastic i’m breaking free
this poem is a tribute to the countless
waste pickers in india
as someone who works in the space of
community media
and the informal waste workers this poem
stems from the urge to call attention to
the waste picking community in the
country
so what if i’m a waste picker on the
never ending road when no one walks
so what if i’m a waste picker walking on
the cold street lonesome yet proud
so what if i’m a waste picker i’m the
one treading my own path
reaching out for the scrap so carelessly
tossed out
so what if i’m a waste picker with
bruised hands
hoarded tears paint silences vacant
thoughts and fatigued feet
i’m the one lifting stirring sorting
picking cleaning grading and changing
so what if i’m the waste picker i rise
with every fall
i rise with every obstacle i rise
through your dominance i rise through
your ignorance
i rise through your caste-based
hypocrisy and discrimination
i rise through the depths of a hollow
marriage of the system
i rise through the myopic vision of the
authorities calling shots on the city’s
waste management
i rise through the names you call me
i rise the mixed waste you throw out
i rise with every spent energies and
rigid stances
i strive i soar i push i rise for i have
a voice i have a name
i am who i am i am the waste picker
charting new frontiers
to conclude our session i’m going to
leave you with a poem
what if your trash could talk from the
worn out sneakers that ran marathon
to the tubes that held lavender-infused
body wash
from the empty bottles of beverage that
tell tales of midnight woes
to the printer that wouldn’t print any
more love stories
from the strings that could not tie to
the mirror that broke hearts
from the clock that could not heal to
the
chocolate wrappers that could no longer
aid sinful pursuits
but what about your mattress your
favorite dress the special toy
does one ever post to wonder of the
journey of your trash
a crisis is brewing and it goes beyond
the problem of waste
for everything is connected air water
soil
is all lost then not at all have you
ever wondered
what is waste how is it wasted and who
works with waste
and why