Srijani Dutta1
Borderlines of partition
Between far and near
Falls a line of shadow,
The gunman stares at a poster,
Underneath of it
A green leaf grows.
Borderline
That crosses
The borders of time
And space,
The loitering souls of the refugees
Reaches a point
That is engulfed
With memory
Of bloodshed.
They dare not to remember
The days of
Heat and dust
Alas! Epiphany appears
That makes their heart sorrowful
Like a chronic melancholic soul.
Trauma can not be bypassed,
Trauma is collective
Trauma appears like a sudden rainfall
While the borderline of 1947 historically
Claims the spirit of undivided nation
And the bodies of the refugees.
2
Drowsiness
Drowsiness comes like a night
Silently approaching towards my eyes
Eyes like the eyes of the sky- stars
Insignificant and numerous –
Something vague.
Drowsiness comes like a new dawn
After the night
With a holy spirit of newness
And with solemn vigour
Dawn-
The yellowish vapour of sunrise
Bestows upon my blue-eyes
Like drowsiness.
How far! How cold!
The drowsiness seems to be-
Alas! It becomes the link
Between birth and death
Alas! It is life-
The water-
The sea.
3
Numbers
The power of magnet is so much
that it attracts the other magnets. If our life is like magnet, it will attract things like fate. I am people and I attract people. People live with numbers. And numbers attract other numbers. That is how the chain is formed. Like people, dates are special numbers. It adds, subtracts, and multiplies to create other numbers. The date of birth is a bunch of dates/numbers. It exists on earth so does our life. All the numbers are the events, the incidents, the happenings. These happenings happen so we live. We remember the dates/numbers, we forget. Ironically, we become the numbers.
I am terrible at coining words,
Framing my thoughts.
I believe that thoughts are like vapour.
Thin, thin, long strands of vapour-
Like fragmented clouds in the veiled sky.
We weave; we stitch the foamy particles
To shape them into a number-
A note-
The living life lived
By some lucky-draw champions.
People say that one has to start to reach somewhere
Then-
Start from where?
Where to end?
In the middle, there is a passage-
It is the life
And life becomes the numbers-
A number-
Till the eternal dawn.
4
Wish
I wish I could experience more acceptance than rejection
After sending in my poems
I wish I could see more honed art after washing off my paint brushes
I wish I could read more congratulatory words
Greetings of celebration
Words of loveliness
Than brutal criticism and satire.
I wish people could see me happy
Without any reason
Instead of my downfall.
I wish people could read more stories of failure
Than success stories
As these enable them to realise glory.
I wish I could change the world
Turning it into a permanent stage of drama
Where dreams get her wings of truth
I wish I could alter the course of sea
And make a sandcastle
Of stars writing down
The notes of immortality
I wish I could…
5
The Observer
I watch vagabonds chasing dreams
I watch writers typing on typewriters
I watch singers singing the melody of future
I watch the shopkeepers selling fruits
Giving flowers to the buyers
I watch chimney sweepers counting water as boon.
The city of multitudes of faces
The city of millions
The city of natural landscapes
The city of picturesque lands
The city of non-conformists
The city of obedient migrants
The city of mediocre going to the churches
The city of contradiction.
I watch people suffering from existential angst
I watch people how they greet random strangers
I watch how the old narrates the stories of young age
I observe how the birds fly across the horizons
Where the old season collapses and the new one begins.
The space of transition
The space of becoming
The observer observes
Till his mortality.
*
Image: Srijani Datta
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