Posts

Showing posts from June, 2020

Veil: A poem by Manisha Amol

Image
Standing at the church entrance sporting an angelic look, As a magical silhouette against the golden rays at the door, Adorned with the velvety shimmery dress from top to toe, Donning a pristine white netty  veil  on her overjoyed face, The bouncing hairdo covered in exuberant white flowers full of sheen, Eyes camouflaging the excitement without a blink enveloped in black kohl, The hypnotic radiant face glowing in a soft bronzy shimmer, Crimson red lips  veiled  in silence trembling, moist and caressing, Shaking hands holding the bouquet of fresh fragrant flowers like dazzling stars wrapped in a transparent sheet, All the reverberating thoughts of a playful teenager racing in her mind, Birds chirping at a distance creating a rendezvous of sweet sound, The silence of the gathered crowd unnerving disallowing her to maintain a calm poise, Her dreamy desires apocalyptically unevenly dispersed under her  veil , Heart missing regular beats with an unfathomable emo

Peek-A-Boo: A story by Sreemati Sen

Image
The newly married girl moved in with her husband soon after the rituals were over. Her eyes fell upon the neatly manicured garden across their house. “A picturesque house.” Astha remarked.   “Yes, Anya Didi’s house. She is nice. But…mentally unsound…” Her husband informed her. Astha did not probe further. The next day, she noticed Didi from her terrace, watering the garden and tending the plants with great care. Their eyes met. Anya waved and beckoned Astha to come over. Seizing the opportunity, she ran across the garden.   “Notun-bou*. I know how lonely it is. Sit down and have chai with me.” Over a cup of chai and homemade goodies, Astha learnt that Didi had been married for long. A mother of four-year-old daughter, her hands were full. But after the husband and the daughter left, she had ample time in her hands. That day when Astha took leave of Anya, the older woman hugged her.  “You can always come over, dear sister.” Chai and conversation became a dai

The veil of ignorance: A poem by Vijeta Harishankar

Image
The veil of ignorance occluded my intellect, For it made me run a race so futile! I wandered listlessly inside the maze of Maya, Squandering the precious breathes of human life. The avarice of surfeit inveigled my senses, Propelled me further down the Abyss. Down under the unfathomable swirl, Manus of Satan ensnared my soul. Dunking me into the pool of unabating desires. My quintessence grappled and panted,   In an attempt to set itself free. Felt a hand brawny yet tender Guided me out miraculously. The gaze of My Guru, Subdued me moreover. It douched me clean off my misdemeanor, Spiraling my journey upward again And finally, I was One with The Supreme.

Memories of summers past: A poem by Dr. Guncha Gupta

Image
Nostalgic, I reminisce, conjuring wistful memories Of languorous summers that kept us busy Buzzing like bees, Our innocent games, full of claps, laughter n’ silly dreams. The lanes we played in, immaculately dressed With racemes of bright yellow laburnums, Some drooping down like bridal veils To shade or to invade a child’s play. Idyllic summers teeming with bivouac of monarchs We relentlessly chased, caught n’ preserved in books. Polka dotted ladybirds we engaged to decide our fates, Competing to touch their tails, pass or fail, designing a self-test. Doorbells that we naughtily rang, Then disappeared to avoid reprimands. The coins we buried hoping to reap treasure trees, The treasures we sought in pith or dried up golden leaves. The trees we climbed, the falls we endured, Verandas filled with water for breaststrokes in makeshift pools. The ice candies we slurped, watermelon, lemon n’ raspberry, our primary colors. Long lost days of summers past, enticingly lure forever. Piled up hom

Monsoon showers: A poem by Dr. Guncha Gupta

Image
Parched, forlorn streets gazed with trepidation, Burnt earth cried dry tears of pain, Climbing devil’s ivy drooped, scorched, singed, Bereaved, heads looked up in vain. And then as monsoon showers fell On an artist’s canvas, swirled mix of colors ran, And his painting washed away like sad tears in the rain, Happily, he looked up and prayed Hands folded, gratitude writ on the face, Hopeful, a masterpiece anew he thought he could make, Now that his slate was clear No sad clouds to fog his way. The waft of marigolds n’ jasmines, Merged with the earthy petrichor, Touched a chord and a ditty played, Street urchins sailed in paper boats, Their muddy puddles no less than giant waves. An orchestra on the pavement played, Drenched in showers unmindful, a symphony built, Angels snooped down wondering where the ballad played.

A stranger: A poem by Preeti S Manaktala

Image
On a quest to search you—  many questions still remain unanswered. You, a stranger, an enigma and mystical.  I wonder who you really are? Not again, don’t step into my thoughts. Shall I let go of my quest, as you seem too far. You stir my being, question my journey. I long to touch you, you the stranger!  Shall I seek you through the Northern lights? Or see your light in the Fireflies?  Experience your wrath in the Volcanoes  Or your myriad colors through a Rainbow!  You are inaccessible like Moon the stars.  Folklore says I must tread Mount Kailash. Crying and yelling, I even searched for you on my dad's funeral. But now, I find you everywhere!! I feel you in the raindrops. I feel you in the breeze. I feel you through the sun rays. When I close my eyes in ecstasy, I, finally feel you within me...! 

Monsoon: A poem by Nisha Tandon

Image
Thunderous clouds sprawl across the skies languidly Enthused to drop the first pearls on the athirst Earth And as the raindrops descend like musical chimes In desolate hearts, to million hopes it begins to give birth Monsoon brings about the rejuvenation of nature Benevolent rain is oblivious how it brings back dead to life Drenching the lifeless woodlands to enrich them The wind whispers mellifluently, as verdant valleys come alive Few pristine dew drops drip from the resilient leaves Sprinkling sporadically onto the dancing grass blades The aroma of wet sand perfumes the parched land And through the blue yonder, it indolently cascades Oft the arched colors stretch reaching for the sunkissed rain And an iridescent rainbow gets drawn with random perfection Beyond it awaits us a paradise of life anew As it smiles through the mist with its spirited rendition Torments of summers cease upon its arrival As the awaited deluge is brought upon the parched ground An orchestra of melodies play

Lifting the veil: A poem by Amrita Lahiri Bhattacharya

Image
The veil that covers my head from top to toe, Doesn't shield my fearlessness, painful soirees, piercing woe, I am enough to fend for my short-lived dreams, Don't you dare belittle my choices, inflicting my self-esteem! The veil of ignorance is dusted with the gleam of education, Trampling and berating my ambition, evaluating it as an aberration, I am enough to maintain the status quo, Don't you dare try to subjugate my opinions, declaring it shallow? The veil of silence that I bore for years has been shattered, The lips are unabashed sans lipstick, adorned with a smile that is infectious, I am enough to carry the bastion of principles and morals, Don't you dare question my decision, lambasting my goals? The veils of turbulent waves of prejudice have been receded, The winds of rebellion against the misogynist society have swelled, I am enough to tame the roaring dominance, Don't you dare challenge my resolution, craving for relevance! The veil ha

Monsoon magic: A poem by Jayashree Bhattacherjee

Image
Brittle, grizzled, parched and scorched, as the  arid earth whispered its pain Lo! The sky opened up, delicate as muslin, poured down the  soft rain All hearts dancing like a peacock, greeted the advent of monsoon With its soothing effect on heat-seared earth, what a pleasant beauty, what a blissful boon! Just as the  soil became enriched with the  heavenly scent of Petrichor With thunder and lightning, the rain started pouring in humongous drops, copious more and more The incessant rain of the season lacked consistency, like a flippant lover First soft and  mild, then came the artillery attacks of bludgeon shower After expending its fury, it again toiled off to dull pitter-patter Just like two old women for a time whispering together In the streets colorful umbrellas popped up, rain coated children splashed on the puddles Lovelorn beloveds holding each other tight, snuggled and cuddled The plants absorbed the magic of the raindrops as they pattered on the  le

When it’s monsoon in Delhi: A poem by Vandana Saxena

Image
When grey spreads over acres of blue An epoch slithers in flamboyant hue The city of hearts pulsates with bliss Like a young girl, before her first kiss The skies open their slivery treasure And weary roads soak in the pleasure The first waft of petrichloral shower Infuses boost to high-rise power The walls bleed with the texture of paints But avenues reflect traditional quaint Heritage, architect, culture, or history, Monuments invite to solve the mystery The humid airs raise the voice Long walks are no more a choice Across the streets celebrating the festival Presenting food in long listicles A child enlivens in every soul Sans a worry or care for troll Butterflies are awakened in the belly When it’s monsoon in Delhi.

Veil: A poem by Gitika Verma

Image
The acquiescent 'pallu' of her sari  covered her face, never daring to slip from her crown, Ever since that moment when she had first set her foot in her in-laws town, Yet she was belittled, routinely scoffed at for not getting enough dowry, Her subservience being disregarded, she never felt herself to be a part of that family, Even the grace of her 'pallu' couldn't save her from the repeated assaults on her dignity. The inseparable black georgette of her 'niqab' covered her youthful self, Yet her modesty was questioned for the reasons unknown to herself, The society preached that her veil will shield her from the men's lustful gaze, Yet she was groped, molested and abused irrespective of her age, The 'niqab' concealed her bruises and her wounded heart held her feelings encaged. But today she dares to unveil her courage and refuses to conform, To the age-old customs of Patriarchy and the biased societal norms, Vanqui

Veil: A poem by Jayashree Pillai

Image
On nights like this, I lift my veil And breathe : Much like you do. Mine isn't a cotton piece like yours. Mine is a cloud that I drew around my frail soul, To  keep away marauders Of a different kind. We are sisters -  You and I, Both hidden behind our veils.  And on nights like this We drop them to breathe. When the morning dawns We drape them again and step out. Your in-laws await the morning tea. My business deals summon me. We are two women - from different worlds, Bound by a veil.

A victim: A poem by Roodaba Shah

Image
Behind a smile, she is hiding anguish Of tormented nights, Lashes lanced dermis, severed soul. Dreams wings slashed and clipped in the struggle and strife Voice muffled in innumerable scuffles. Concealed bruises blues, blazed marks bleeding beneath Her Doe-eyes barren, smudged Koehl Misty dews rolled down wiped ofttimes, her eyes are parched now. He promised her heavens but broke all his promises.  She has been the victim at the hands of life's companion. He vowed to protect her dignity and turned into a batterer. She standing at the threshold of life nowhere to go Feeble, frail victim though, she mustered the courage one day Mended broken pieces she finally decided  No more despair and bemoaning any more  Broke the shackles that weighed her down. Shattering silence demolished confinements, It's certainly the beginning of a new dawn.

Unleash the inner strength, not the victim card: A poem by Amrita Lahiri Bhattacharya

Image
The cascading long tresses eclipsing her face, The cracked lips with a tinge of lipstick lace, The door is ajar with a sound of creak, Alas!  She is the victim of his lust. The mornings are cloaked in somber mood of dejection and depression, She doesn't find meaning in an abusive relationship, She is flummoxed by his insouciance, Picked up the last straws of courage, now eyes reflect vengeance. Recounting the horror tales at night, She sets off to a journey unknown, discovering a stream of blissful light. Henceforth started the herculean task of identifying her pensive dream, Breaking the barriers, she resolved to banish his nerve-wracking screams. The nebula of torture at the hands of the oppressor has reached a nadir, The marriage rife with domestic violence, brimming with ebullience at every corridor, Overcoming the toxic masculinity, she refused to play the victim card, Under the veneer of soft-spoken visage, she regained her self-dign

A victim of love : A poem by Supriya Bansal

Image
The sun laved the garden, smudged a balmy, peachy hue on the placid verdure,   Lilting melodies tinged the air, wrens ‘n robins warbled a rapturous allure,   Aurelian daffodils, wild bluebells, fuchsia peonies bloomed, pristine ‘n pure   The boughs waltzed ‘n whirled, dovetailed the whistling wind, coy ‘n demure     Lavender presided on the hedges, swaying ‘n sashaying, sprinkling gaiety ‘n glee   Caressing the besotted breeze, nestling ‘n nuzzling, unabashed ‘n carefree   Out of the blue, a bee burst forth, whizzing ‘n buzzing, inside the  savory  sanctuary    Lavender gawked enticed ‘n enthralled, utterly bamboozled by the bee’s repartee      Lavender primped ‘n  pranced;  her lustrous lilac glistened ‘n gleamed in the sunlight   ardent ‘n amorous she ogled, come-hither look lined her eyes, it was love at the first sight   Her ambrosial scent swathed ‘n shrouded the air, cloaking ‘n veiling an amatory invite   Impetuous ‘n impu

She loves me, she loves me not: A story by Supriya Bansal

Image
He rubbed his sleepy eyes.    Sun had filtered gently through the window-sheers casting an array of patterns on the bed.    Clutter -clatter, he could hear Amma fiddling in the kitchen; maybe she was getting his breakfast ready. His tummy started to rumble just at the thought.    He quietly slid off the bed and ambled towards the kitchen. The delectable aroma of spices hit his nose; four-year-old Manu peeped inside the kitchen.    The sound of a sizzling pan made him smack his lips. Aha, she was making  dosas , his favorite! He decided not to disturb her and skittered towards the dining table.    Propping himself on a chair, he waited ardently; wouldn’t it be so much fun to startle her.    Tip-tap, he heard her footsteps.   Briskly he hid under the table, trying hard to suppress the peals of laughter bursting from within.    Amma clambered on a chair and plopped down her plate in front of her. Indifferent and impassive, she pushed a morsel in her mou

Victim: A poem by Vasudha Pansare

Image
The tired, hungry and desperate Migrant workers, walking for miles, Without food and footwear Are victims of political inefficiency. The poverty-ridden millions, Who suffer constantly and quietly, And can never dream of a bright future, Are victims of social inequality and human greed. The farmers who work so hard, And never get the price they deserve, Never experience prosperity, Are victims of social injustice. Women who are abused and sexually exploited, Women who are not allowed to Educate themselves and discover their identity, Are victims of a patriarchal society. A nation which is underdeveloped, A nation which does not progress, A nation which is divided, Is a victim of corruption.