Three Poems by Kiriti Sengupta

On Exit

i

Does grief know its future?
Like the river, it refuses to
cease but reveals progression.

ii

Why do I fail
to prefix Late
with my father’s name?

2

Is Winter Back in Delhi?

Cold has an old-world spur to it. I tend to rest more with an inflated appetite. Drops of olive oil on my aging skin add to the impetus. Traditional cuisines like pulao, mutton kosha, and pithe-payesh cheerfully replace bland meals for the summer. I find warmth in the shawls exuding the fragrance of a fabric conditioner I am fond of. Clean woolen reminds me of the quiet season. As the March shower topples the rising temperature, air circulates a frosty shrill.

Heat and sweat help me invest myself in work. Will this abrupt climate change make me indulge in the luxuries I cherished in the past few months? Or would the idea of being less fecund engulf me as it does in the downtime?

3
Antara Marwah Walks the Ramp

She steals the show.
I whisper—
She is endearing, isn’t she?
I try to spot the choreographer.

What does the model endorse?
What if she had missed a beat?
What if her stilettos broke?
What if…

Antara is all smiles as she
treads, flaunting her baby
bump. The fashion parade
looms large in a new arrival.

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