As they languish…

Not like those summers,
But twisted, a little tight and swollen,
Our talks now,
That falls from the daisy chain
Of new born emotions leaking through the slit,
As there are gnarls near the dam,
In the chest of the village..!
In all this intrigue distortion,
Looking for sinewy threads of life,
Eyes strike hard on the emptiness that pierces
Through the slotted roof,
For a tot of tears that,
Poverty has usurped long ago.
And the string of life escapes the master’s hand,
Jarring in my ear,
Like the terror of silence in a barn of dead,
In the middle of the roaring souls,
Witnessing the ineffable destitution of human life,
 As I stand on the edge of a diseased era..!
Hearts are not austerely simple,
But deep in the hull of the materialistic relief,
Wringing the emotions
The costly pains and sorrows alienate its prey
From its own shadow,
For a tot of tears slotted minds fall asleep.
Exhaling my debt for another instant,
In the whirlpool of time,
Nothing worth could be done but closing the eaves,
Set adrift in search of a little peace,
On the waves of unison
Unison of stranded mind and soul,
The universe within…!
An offering on the window
By the auspicious ritual of lips,
Tuning with,
The symphonic hum of every lone instance
And the pensive gaze..
that stumbles upon the turfs of thoughts,
like the current of wind
shaking the bunch of wild flowers
that stumbles upon the swaying locks of hair.
Floating in the emptiness,
to fall into the whirlpool of memory and hope,
for hours and hours;
The days and years bled  like a sacrificial offer
for the words unspoken,
For an oath that  had never been taken.
And aflame to beckon a long wait
alone to be ajar for the words to be said,
And there’s the offering on the window,
Of the ostensible hunger of love,
sediments all loneliness and despair aside,
For the granitic flame shimmering  through my hope.!
Inside the hollow of chest,
deceiving the ebbs and flow of decaying hope,
stubborn spirit dotes an abandoned promise,
A silence…; never to give up,
hanging on the other side of the window shield,
waiting for the return,
return of her love one day
And so the last long draught in the eyes,
decades ago the river had been caged..!
Nitusmita Saikia, a bilingual writer from Assam is presently working in National Cadet Corps. Her poems have been published in many national and international anthologies, blogs, sites, local newspapers etc.

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