CREATIVE WRITING
2018- present
Sina Sujatha Schwache has been writing since the age of 15.
Creative writing has been her sanctuary, where she reflects on external influences and internal states. Sina mainly writes poetry, short stories and essays in English and German. Her writing concerns topics such as identity and belonging, gender and race equality, human trafficking and social justice.
Sina also performs her poetry at selected events such as Tate Modern (London), KOTI (Berlin).
She has been commissioned by Arts Council England to produce spoken word pieces for feminist conferences.
She is currently working on her debut poetry collection, which she is looking to publish in 2020. An excerpt of her poetry can be found below.
Please, get in touch, if you are an agent or interested to book a reading.
POETRY
COMING FROM THE SHADOWS
February, 2019
At night. Long shadows form estranged particles of my soul,
climbing up walls and crying rivers from the ceiling, dripping onto
the bed then onto the floor, where the carpet becomes a riverbed of
sadness.
The moon. Sends shimmers of hope into the darkness in the little run
down flat in Notting Hill, altering a state of despair into an
unmanageable place of confusion.
The truth. Is something we can never find due to lies around heritage
which suffocate reality like a chicken on a battery farm.
My mouth. Feels dry yet it is yearning to shout as loud as a the
sound of a vehicle crashing into a wall at 200 miles a hour, without
airbag, my tongue ripped out shortly before we crash.
The silence. When I stare with my eyes wide open into the night and
chase my thoughts that rise like phoenixes into the sky by the
window, burning and rising in a repetitive cycle.
The laptop. Finally keeps me company in a surreal realisation when I
discover that I officially have never been born and that my name was
never mine...it’s when I dare to admit in a heart shattering serenade
of my keyboard keys that I’m coming from the shadows.
HEIMAT
Spring, 2017
Lang schon sehn ich mich nach Dir,
doch bevor ich Dich noch fassen kann, bist Du mir jaeh entglitten.
Du liegst im Kuestennebel,
der sanft die Haut beruehrt
und schwer mein Herz umfaengt.
Ich verliere mich in Deinem dichten Grau, rufe nach Dir, bis meine Kehle trocken und meine Lippen sproede werden.
Vom Meeressalz.
Ich jage Dir nach
– doch bleib ich orientierungslos.
Je weiter ich laufe,
desto rissiger der Boden.
Ich wuensche mir, du kehrst zurueck, und bleibe hoffnungsvoll.
Doch niemand holt mich ein
– außer der Zeit.
Ich bleibe stehen,
verharre in Erinnerungen.
Kaempfe mit innerer Verzweiflung und steigender Ungewissheit,
Dich zu finden.
Einsamkeit zermuerbt.
Ich entschließe mich umzukehren,
Um noch einmal neu anzufangen.
Ich hoere in der Ferne
das Rauschen der Brandung
und ueber mir die Moewen.
Auf zu neuen Ufern.