Poetry

By Prosari Chanda She be a wreck, drowning in her own storm adrift in unspoken ache she be torn between love that divides her between loyalties  that wound. She be searching her soul in the grave where her vanity lies buried oozing memories. She be glaring at the sky talking to her reflection  in a broken mirror fighting demons that wear her name. She be gathering bones of her face to meet the world again. Smelling the smoke of doom and resonating to a blunt silence— that bea

By Prosari Chanda What bird is this inside me, beating its wings against my mind’s sky farther than far, higher than high, flying into a bluer elsewhere. I know the day will pass this way, the boat of the memories will drift from the threshold of the sea. Those dreams are no longer here, always distant now that one once in love with us. We had kept countless dreams  in sand-castled homes, Now the waves wave them farewell from afar. Should I turn back and look? is this sorrow

By Prosari Chanda What if, one dusk, I stumble home - unshelled, unstitched, wild-eyed, airless your name a ghost I cannot hold your voice a blur I cannot trust? kohl bleeding like a history undone, hair in a revolt of silence, lungs uncertain of allegiance — and I arrive but don’t bring me with me. what if I arrive impossible? will you still reach? still undress my rage with gentleness? pour light into my hollows, wash away the night from my bones, call me back in the shelf

By Prosari Chanda I've seen you dig deep for truth only to bury it again  Is it your pride, love?  Heavy monsoons wove blossoms  into kadam trees, yet could never sweep in the faith,  that leaped beyond their roots beyond the drenched domains.  I had seen you back then  Your beauty lit like saffron  hair dried like forgotten reeds,  face roughened by surrender your heart — a silent ruin.  And I've seen you today,  rapt in morning prayers I hid behind the Sal woods willing not

By Prosari Chanda People are waves  one, a disc of hammered gold;  the next, wild and roaring.  Another brings stories of us,  like a mysterious land sonnet-strewn with stars.  Then— interminable silence,  rain falling in sheets, a pinch of you,  a twitch of me.  Zing. And I have lost it,  little by little the knowing of how  the other gives you affection  and destroys your soul.  Oh, that beauty is grim,  and something always  covers something else like waves folding into wa

By Prosari Chanda Hands that remember every crossing, every tide that rose to kiss the shore. Clouds gather, waters swell, yet the shore stands still, holding its quiet rebellion. What is it to be a piece of the whole?  Who decides what makes a whole? Someday, I know I am one of them blood, criticism, hate, marrow, praise, money, blood I’m one of them. So I go to small places, where happiness asks for no reason. Where nothing needs sorting out, where belonging is just breathi

By Prosari Chanda Tired of fiction! I linger with what I know, things I do,  the quiet thrum of things that give me power. As a grown-up girl— what scripts my worth? Does testing always stitch up the wounds of past or does waiting heal from getting weary of being tested again? Who decides on all that drama  of learning to settle well? Why hold the ropes for someone who is never meant to be bound? I have trained my heart  to bleed and clean to stand unthanked to taste the not-

By Shweta Chaudhary Nothing drenches the soul more, than to prove your worth each day! There is love and life, families and comrades, but for more the heart craves. To be and to hold that this life not spent in vain. To be some more than the usual days! By Shweta Chaudhary

By Shweta Chaudhary And again I lost my cease, to cascading deodar trees; shooting, trenching to sky leap and where the breeze touches me to soothe the plain's heat, where the sun sometimes kissed and then again it sweeps; into the passing clouds' creed, where the mountains hide in nature's green, and there I heard a thrush cooing, retrieving some cluster of memories that lay in my heart buried! By Shweta Chaudhary

By Shweta Chaudhary Lost my soul, to money and vile, toiled for the world and yet, on my name laid stains, malice. Love were the days, when I wandered in the wild. Nothing to lose, bliss in every sight, how I cherished, the spruce, deodar, vines and lark that sang to the sky. Happy, carefree were the days; no money by my side! By Shweta Chaudhary

By Shweta Chaudhary The road is numb and the trees still. The sky dazzles today, at its will. The mountains are dark, and the night pale, dim. A dog somewhere barks and the folks swept in dreams. The night invites in silence, tempting! Warm are her hands of memories as she sings. As years pass by, so gently it stings. By Shweta Chaudhary

By Shweta Chaudhary A coucal lives in the wild ferns, under the bushes, in the thorns. It flies for a while nearby and then sits firm, strange gloom- stricken or age worn? May be the lover's plight, or for dear ones it yearns. It sits on the parapet and gazes across the field for long! Weary its flight, sings no song. By Shweta Chaudhary

By Shweta Chaudhary Away from the city’s shriek, in farms my soul exists, and to my nose smell of sweet mangoes reach, flowers of mustard dance with the wind! Under a lush green tree, soft breeze touches me, gushing water from the well, rushing to meet parched fields. Softly a hidden nightingale sings, to his farmer sowing seeds. And far, far from this, women on cart sing, laugh under their drawn veils! And there I see, clouds of dust blooming, Kids in dusty uniform, With all

By Shweta Chaudhary The days are gone. All paths, lane forlorn. That sweet ache to accompany torments no more. But see O dear, that mad laugh has brimmed again from those remembered lips. Lost to them I my heart again, rush I feel in my veins. If for once I could travel again, down the memory lane. On some mountain top at dusk, when glittering again the ‘valley’ lures, wait I once again, with my arms apart, knees resting on the floor, a warm embrace once for sure. A song, a s

By Shweta Chaudhary As I see clouds forming, with thunder and dark they appear dooming, Its mist and gloomy everywhere. As I see upward at every edge, there is no crack where light could seep, tears bore my heart heavy. But wait I hear a sound within, a roar, a rush, a fire flaming it rises and extinguishes. At times it rushes into my vein. And I feel my pain, sorrow, a vague, meaningless trap therein or is it some thin curtain? surrounding me all over certain! It narrows my

By Shweta Chaudhary When evening treads on sky’s bed, the setting sun then weds, kissing the horizon’s edge, its cheeks blush crimson red. Far across the moon hangs, pale in face, its lips shrank, waiting to sip the wine, of dewy night- last time it drank, to ease himself of summer’s pangs. Oh! What a delight to walk that lane, where the air pricks and teases plain. Before the plumeria is to sight, intoxicating even the most sane, gracing the clear road that lay, where the ro

By Rumpa Chatterjee When heart feels heavy Breath gets stuck, When the hope shuts down its door  Leaving no past to chase, no future near.  Just  one breath seems Right now, right here.         Simply pause -  And take a deep breath,  Inhaling the seed of trust,  Exhaling the despair,doubts and mistrust. With that one breath,  The heaviness starts to fade,  Awaking  the conscious self to recall,  It was never afraid. So whenever the world feels loud and deep,  Only a deep bre

By Shree Banerjee Love started here. I found love in your zeal for war, as though I’d lost you by fault; You became the ethos of my art, Then left me, love, to play your part; I sought again what I had lost to you, But letting go was your true virtue; For when my heart forgot to love, and you returned it not, for it was yours to keep; I placed you on a pedestal so high above, that reaching out to you felt like a dream; Oh Maud, what a joy to build a Troy of lies, And watch it

By Mehar Walia I am a tree The tree who never seeks but gives Never speaks but heals The tree whom all love and adore But then the storm comes Still, I stand firm against the storm Trying not to break, shake, or even move I stay still But yet it is not in my control I move, I shake, I may even break Then the wind dies down And the rain pours softly It heals me It wraps around me And it holds me in its warm embrace Yet it is only so much it can do It is I who must heal and gro

By Mehar Walia Fear sits, shivering and lost, seeking a comforting touch, Anger storms, blaming all, unaware it hurts too much. Happiness strives, juggling it all, but struggles to stay strong, While sadness waits, silent and unseen, crying a silent song. Anxiety whispers, a constant noise, hard to shut out, Jealousy lingers, quietly watching, trying not to shout. And hate, kept in shadows, untouched, unspoken, unseen, But why not embrace them all, with kindness, tenderness a