New Poem – ENTR’ACTE


The sun drips from our tin roof.

The white wall of our house

absorbs the old apple tree’s shadow,

turning it into a wonder.

 

Your bicycle rests below fiery Chinars.

In the kitchen a stove burns,

on the table an old copper samovar,

the lingering aroma of kahwa,

translucent sugar, local breads, pickles

raisins and walnuts, all wait.

 

Two low wooden stools, a bench

and copperware gleaming in the sun.

Half burnt incense on a silver plate,

In a nearby room, tapestry cushions,

rugs, kangris and hand woven shawls.

 

Photographs of us posing, silverware,

a curio cabinet, on its top a cigarette case.

Neatly arranged on the dressing table,

silver jewellery, a comb, a kohl stick,

and a walnut box waiting to be filled.

 

Jasmine floats in a crystal bowl

next to the bed, a quilt is folded neatly,

a pair of slippers on the floor, musty books

on shelves. On the wall a calendar,

a notepad hanging next to it.

 

On the rose and green shaded porch,

a paddle loom dressed for work.

On the steps I wait, as I do every day—

my belly swollen, a lotus bud in my hair—

for your return to make this house a home.

 

First published in Open Road Review .

 

A Guest Poet Post : The Widow ( A Poem)


My very dear blogger friend and my teammate in recently concluded Bloggers Premier League  Leo of I rhyme without reason recently invited me to do a guest post on his blog.

Leo is a wonderful poet and tale weaver.  Do visit his blog and leave your views there too. A gesture of appreciation for his beautiful work .

I am the 45th guest writer there and my poem is the 597the post. It   is part of  the celebration of  reaching  the milestone of 600 posts.

Here is the link to the post  The  Widow Do Read

Sharing it on my blog too .

 

The Widow

 

It’s over

Her warm tear-streaked cheeks
touched the hard pillow
a sharp pain flashed through her
newly tonsured head

gone were those long tresses
that swayed with the slightest breeze
and fell over her shoulders
like a cascading waterfall
gone with him forever

her glass bangles lay broken
glittering shards of intense memories
a single white muslin
draped her naked youth
feelings affections desires
destined now
to die
plunged deeper into
the dark recesses of her heart
her hopes
her tears
her joys
all bounded within the cloistered walls

The mournful walls of  her narrow room
watched the ghastliness of death

the rite, the pyre, the flames
the chants and the moaners
all flowed in front of her
in a hazy mist
acting like a spell
they strained her lifeless body

under the dim light of the oil lamp
lay her humble meal
untouched

in her slender fingers
was clenched a rosary
her soul mate for the remaining life

her eyes, heavy with sorrow and pain
began to close
the light of the lamp
faded into the
inky Bengal night

plunging her into the realms of obscurity

“outstanding”

“cut” ,

“packup”

The director said.

beaming with joy
her face lit up
with a dazzling smile
her last shot of her first film
and what a brilliant performance

i looked at my friend
making an effort
to match her excitement

She waved and slipped into her room
within minutes she was back
her curls flirting around her moon like face
little soft clouds

dazzling in a bright red gown
Looking ravishing
as a newly wed should

pain cut  through my heart
like lightning
a tear rolled down slowly
as we hugged

I clenched the piece of paper in my fist

A message for her

” He is no more” It read