The Poetic Meanders

The Poetic Meanders
The Teesta River - captured by Parth Adhikari

Friday, 18 September 2015

A Dancing Sylph

A Dancing Sylph


She puts on a yellow guise of gentleness,
Vermilion is dotting her demure palms,
Her locks are plaited like silk strands,
Scents bring out her natural charms.

Humility shines in her limpid eyes,
Her supple body sparkles her young age,
She keeps devotion in her pure heart,
With this her feet kiss the waiting stage.

Her face shows a plethora of expressions
Like a battlefield of a thousand emotions,
The air hums a certain soundless magic
Softly echoing her innocent notions.

She dances like a poem with a fire-
A music that enchants every mind.
She is a flower of beautiful hues
A petal of which is hard to find.

Saturday, 5 September 2015

Late


 Late

Since, you have not yet returned.


You have not yet returned

Since the: “Don’t wait for me,

I might get late tonight;

There’s work. Love you baby.”



You have not yet replied

To: “Was the salt to taste?” -

A handwritten note in your

Questions laden lunch-case.



You have not yet called home

Since the:  “I am stuck here,

There is a meeting now –

Sales have dropped – everywhere!”



You have not yet arrived.

It is beyond midnight.

I wait in this dimness

Pierced by the streetlight.



The phone rings. Is it you?

No. “Hello, Kavita?

Have you watched the news?

Havoc! Where’s Ajoy da?”



On the television:

The Taj, Trident, Leopold

Have all been attacked, oh!

Horrible events unfold.



V.T. too! No, please God

No, let this be false!

Where are you? Why aren’t you

Answering my phone calls?



I’ve stayed up all night long,

Your parents are here. Mine

Have called a thousand times,

“Things, Ma, are far from fine.”



I reach the hospital

Hoping to find you named

In the list of those wounded,

Rather in of those unclaimed.





Years gone. No news of you.

They have cleared the debris,

Wiped clean the blood, the shells;

Just not the memory.



But you haven’t yet returned

Since the: “Don’t wait for me,

I might get late tonight;

There’s work. Love you baby.”


Tuesday, 1 September 2015

Two Lives



Two Lives



It takes a while to understand
And much longer still to explain
Our mutually quiet sleight of hand
That has reduced this mutual pain.

Round and round, beating around
The veritable bush of the past,
We are back to when we two found
Our two lives to be in contrast.

Furtively behind etiquette
We have in our rights kept living,
Yet, when alone, we seem to debate
All there’s to fate and forgiving.

This - our shared charade, will follow
Us when we’ll be two lives apart -
Alike at times we weep or wallow,
Across the humming of each heart.