“You never will amount to much,” you said quietly. Not acknowledging that quiet is not silence. Unlike the silence that fell when you died for me, absolute and forever silencing the noise. Quiet calls for attention to the hum of voices in the background, the koel that sings, the wind that whistles, the moon that…
Blazing.
In the silence of the night interspersed by soft snores, a ghost garden is where I walk, waiting to hear a voice that death has silenced years ago. Waiting and hoping each night to dream, of long dead blooms lying scattered as a shadow moves and little tiger baby appears, in the shadow, is it…
This used to be my playground
Drag the inflatable boat out of the room on the side Where the old swing remains, mangled by ropes Drag out the oars, flicking the water hoping The water snakes weave out of the way. Undone, for the first time in years, Swim out and clamber onto the boat, You never forgot how; although joints…
Acute angles.
I. Through street lampsthe Arabian Sea rinses a distant blue while from the shadows the rocks extrude slowly drifting away, out of reach lovers and friends, children and laughter If I am anythingof any meaning, look for me there, among the shallows breathing soft night. II. If I am anything of any meaning, look at the rain as it falls, flickeringagainst the light. To be…
Dregs
Last night the lights blew out one by one into themselves and darkness came flooding out of my breath as I slept. I dreamed we returned to the house by the pond, back among those we loved, alive and dead, not one living besides yourself and I. I woke wild-eyed, grasping the pre-dawn-light filtering through…
Enough
My daughters live far away for now, though I suspect it may be for longer until they visit, spinning into our lives like butterflies and fresh jasmine, like the memory of cake batter licked off fingers and the bowl. Was I ever more like them than like me, shoulders undefeated, breathing warmth into days…
15 August, your day. Always.
When you died, I lost my air. Hit with a giant swell of grief which still flows, streaming into streets filled with tears the rains that followed. I stood at the edge of the water diving in and out again and again, seeking relief. The sound of your voice is fleeting. Time is the thief…
A poem from the past, 1996 to be exact!
15th August has always been special because it is my father’s birthday. I used to love that day more than any other. Even my own birthday paled in comparison…we always got gifts on 15th August, usually there would be a neatly gift-wrapped new box of paints for me waiting at the breakfast table….. in myriad…
To a friend.
There is a sciatica running down a leg but I manage to live with it quite easily. I’m in Calcutta where I swore I never would liveand you’re in the other end of the country, so to speak You tell me you’re unpacking your life from boxes, I wish I could help somehow. In school we…
Broken
After I shake out my pockets, I come up with nothing But grains of sand And some tobacco dust From a cigarette smoked A multitude ago. All that which spun In the washing machine And landed here turned out to be other morose beings like myself. We were two sisters But Mother always said She…
The sea…
Dances, the breeze flowing, Waves crashing upon the shore Easing the hurt, breakers creasing The sound I’ve always loved. Water soothes, as do friends We knew as children, who Know life can be recreated In lives that are no more. I smile, the sudoku lies Undone. I have met My Mephistopheles And I have sold…
Going home.
After the last drop of chemo Has dripped through the IV The nurses flush the site Ice pack the swollen hand And remove all the evidence You look at me with those eyes. Silent, wide and expressive, “Can we go home now?” We cannot, the doctors Want you bound to this place To this bed…
Hands
After I fumble yet another conversation About the miseries of war That no one wants to be part of, I think of the world taking up arms, For whatever reason, Each and every one of them wrong. You wouldn’t have hesitated To shoot their chest-thumping down. But the world has changed, I’ve tried, Fear be…
33 years
Not all men are equal, some less than others. Some rant and rage, some pillage Spread aggression and hate Not caring of the spillage. Some are nice, some even mean well Some carry barbs in the words they say Yet some are benign, some upright And some are always on display. And then there’s you:…
Last night’s moon
Cast a red eye As I watched From my corner Across the sky A glow, a flicker A game of hide-&-seek In my mind’s eye. Chasing clouds, Chasing rain, The same refrain Comes to mind… This is alas, The last outpost From the past Perhaps. As I retire From the solitary Confinement Of one mind’s…
Erasing Bodies
Ars Poetica* (after Kenyatta Rogers) All poetry ought to be torn and thrown, unless someone picks up the pieces, pastes them together with tape as if it means something to them. Like toilet paper dissolving in the pot, the scribbles on the wall scrubbed out when you were three. Life is a waiting room, we…
Dachau Concentration Camp
We destroy, we maim, we claim and kill what we cannot hold on to. We inter the bones, burn the bodies of dissident thoughts, place our fears in isolated camps and call it freedom. There is no comfort to be found And hope is in retreat. All that is, is politics and war, it’s insidious…
2025: pro familia
It’s another year rolling around, they tell me, get your act together write more, sound happy for a change, give up on those terrible habits, travel alone (if you must), but forget not the “responsibilities“. In court, stand strong, work hard, write that perfect affidavit, (is anything ever perfect?) be there. For the family. Be…
Un-beaten
I have learned to live with Ghosts they often break bread with me, they taught me to run headlong into the Storm, stride out into the Darkness, for waiting for the Rain to stop never would help me… or anyone. I have had plenty lessons along the way on how to be Lightning, scorching the…
lets begin
“Time is not linear but a deck of cards that is continuously shuffled.” -Paul Tremblay (The Pallbearers Club). After those long nights have been stored for another day and relegated to the back of the closet, there’s nothing to fear, save that the moon is turning away and the night will be at its darkest….
Ducks in a row
The night is bored, the black it wears, torn at the shoulders… forever painted bleak, bringing in the darkness night after night with no other colour it ever wore. The evening listens to the song of the last koel that called and went and waited at the temple steps crossed legged, but no one returned…
Home?
I have no idea where the days are slipping, when it is night; the diurnal circuit fulfilling itself and time is just a tide. My time is watching little faces as they speak and move the human circuit grinding along where words have no refuge. Am I home, I ask myself is this, then, where…
colliding worlds
I took a stroll on paths we walked Stopping now and again to stare They have added some bunnies And colourful birds and ducks But the duck I searched for Was not there. That duck was never here This pond was never her home But try explaining that to a girl Who somehow, magically Wishes…
Thoughts from Eucalyptus Avenue (HQTC)
In this oasis, the eucalyptus trees are petrifying to stone. The stumps remain, exposed to wind and rain, a reminder of that which was. Has been. And is gone. Once, far away from here, we ran and played ’neath trees like these. (They eat the soil, or so they say…) Mangoes graced and lit the…
The last time.
If my grief has lost it’s bite, what will I write about? Will my words have guts and grit, will they make you cry? I got the colour palette mixed up, the hues lost in words I never wanted to have to say. I never did find the knives that were pulled out of my…
afloat…
We indulge our passions, unthinking of the ripples we make. I am most alive when I am dead underwater, cocooned in it’s gentle caress. No hacking cough, not even the pain that shoots down my leg on land. This poem flows therefrom like the drops that slide off my back as I take a turn…
Mountains of missing…
We wrest from the Earth what we cannot possibly return, the rocks, the Rhododendron claiming it to be our own; a sad little goat tied to a pole, bleating for a mother, a ghost long slaughtered. Any stretch of land, we strip and tar and pave, get a shout-out for this impudent achievement. People throng…
the mountains, the mountains…
These are the mountains, the misty mountains where the rocks wait, to sing in chorus, frowning music into a scar. Here there are mountains, closed, misty mountains they do not care if we aren’t. Or are, for that’s how it is and always were. For in the larger scheme of things, life is not life,…
Different shores.
All seas are one, in a manner of speaking,water flows to water. Standing at the Bay of Bengalmy feet are touched by waves that may have kissedPacific shores. No matter how we look at it,all Gods too, are one, even the ones that are not. I thought of my mother, on a Fowler’s bed,who could…
dust to dust
The end is always near, Death waits right round the corner, softly watching your approach nearer than the second before; Fear is superfluous: for all that is born, will die one day; the jewels you lust after will glitter in someone else’s ear. The house we built, too will fall to seed with the wind…
Water on water (#worldpoetryday)
Water on water: the things that matter. Impossible to describe the deep empty longing, in the voice of dogs. My childhood was elsewhere. The light shone, a thread through the eye of a needle I had to fit into. Calcutta is a big city, the grandest in our region. But the wind still howls, specially…
The Ganges at Chinsurah
Floating on the river I realise it’s not the setting sun or the bridge in the distance, it’s a woman in whose arms lives have been lost and loved. The river today is not the same as yesterday and the water snaking will be changing soon, The river today changes by the second yet remains…
The graveyard.
In this graveyard a boy once proposed to me, We were young and callous and the world Lay at our feet. We climbed the broken wall To get inside, we did that often, my friends and I Daring each other to stay on till dark, exploring Among tombstones, reading aloud the words Left for the…
Birthday wishes…
My father, Striding across the beach at dawn The plank of wood his surf board. Making sand castles with tunnels Waiting for the waves to re-load My father, Indulging whatever the new fancy was. Waiting for me outside school. Calling out my name just because He liked to, the reason was moot. My father, Laying…
The dying.
I often worried that when the call came, I’d be at work But the afternoon my mother dies, I am resting at home after lunch. So I tell myself to snap out of it And later as we prepare my mother, I think this is the only time I will see her like this, because…
Full moon again
Again it’s just the two of us And you hide behind the clouds And as I pick my way on the terrace Your light still shines through, Cutting through my firmament The Kamini smells just as sweet The baby lemons nod in the breeze The darkness in my heart complete But not all darkness is cloying …
Kalapokhri
It poured, the sound of rainpounding on the water reminding me of rain drenched swimswhen days were fat and full. I threw away the bracelet that day, let it sink in the dark waters of Kalapokhri Not wanting it manacled around my wrist anymore. I am swayed by my thoughts. That swim in circles, memories…
To Rubic (on turning 30).
Can mere words ever be enough for a son who taught me the art of taking myself less seriously, and made me a child again! The son who filled my world with fresh pots of paint colours I never knew existed bleeding into my grey refrain. Those unforgettable drives, longer swims, “the dark room”, getting…
Voices
I hear you, little brook as you babble in my ears, I hear you too, little girl, crying in your mother’s arms, I hear you, lawyers, strident and demanding. Some voices are pleasant, and some can be soothed with toffee, some carry on like there is no tomorrow, Some silence themselves to echoes that are…
Thoughts from a hospital
At least now that I am not chained to the bedanymore, I can have more lucid thoughts.I walk this room, stretch myself and again countthe days till I can go home. Outside,people come and go oblivious to my eyeswatching from a window aboveas they go about their daily lives…Standing in the shade, looking bored, chewing…
On the 30th year…13.05.2023.
In the end it was easy to leave you. Your body burned on a raging fire and I was told to not look back, Although I would have, had I been told that ghosts would then follow me home. I would welcome those ghosts, Offer them tea or something stronger Only for news of you….
To Ipsy, sometime later. #glopowrimo #promptday30
Today’s prompt (day 30 and the final one of this challenge) is to write a palinode – a poem in which you retract a view or sentiment expressed in an earlier poem. So I have chosen a poem that I wrote earlier this year, based on another prompt where I was to give life advice to…
Sailing
I am just a vessel Tossed upon the seas My fathers direct the winds That set my nautical charts To be free. The calm Before the storm, The starlit nights on board The moon eclipsed by clouds The smell of salt and ocean, The wind and the seagull’s cry Crashing on every wave, I seek…
The return
You never return from some things,yet the body carries on. Sometimesit even travels, reflects light, But when you knock, there’s no one home. How did I leave you? With the bitternessand disappointment of innocents.How did I return? Like a womanwho has nothing left to lose or hope for. The mind still plays tricks, But often the hands fall slack,…
Sunflowers
I do not give an explanation every time I write a poem, I just go about with the emotion and hope somebody gets what I’m saying. But this piece of art has a story and one worth telling. In school, back in the early 80s, there was an Art teacher everyone was petrified of: Mrs…
ipsita banerjee 