Remember the words we said they were not much but enough. Those nights, the fightswhen I stood corrected were enough, that is exactly whyI think of you every day it’s enough. Something in my heartwill not sway and I never will have enough of you, after all the tearsthe regret and hurt, am I enough? Am I worthy…
Category: poetry
Much
“You never will amount to much,” you said quietly. Not acknowledging that quiet is not silence. Unlike the silence that fell when you died for me, absolutely and forever silencing the noise. Quiet calls for attention to the hum of voices in the background, the koel that sings, the wind that whistles, the moon that…
Blazing.
In the silence of the night interspersed by soft snores, a ghost garden is where I walk, waiting to hear a voice that death has silenced years ago. Waiting and hoping each night to dream, of long dead blooms lying scattered as a shadow moves and little tiger baby appears, in the shadow, is it…
This used to be my playground
Drag the inflatable boat out of the room on the side Where the old swing remains, mangled by ropes Drag out the oars, flicking the water hoping The water snakes weave out of the way. Undone, for the first time in years, Swim out and clamber onto the boat, You never forgot how; although joints…
Acute angles.
I. Through street lampsthe Arabian Sea rinses a distant blue while from the shadows the rocks extrude slowly drifting away, out of reach lovers and friends, children and laughter If I am anythingof any meaning, look for me there, among the shallows breathing soft night. II. If I am anything of any meaning, look at the rain as it falls, flickeringagainst the light. To be…
Sailing
I am just a vessel Tossed upon the seas My fathers direct the winds That set my nautical charts To be free. The calm Before the storm, The starlit nights on board The moon eclipsed by clouds The smell of salt and ocean, The wind and the seagull’s cry Crashing on every wave, I seek…
The return
You never return from some things,yet the body carries on. Sometimesit even travels, reflects light, But when you knock, there’s no one home. How did I leave you? With the bitternessand disappointment of innocents.How did I return? Like a womanwho has nothing left to lose or hope for. The mind still plays tricks, But often the hands fall slack,…
Enough
My daughters live far away for now, though I suspect it may be for longer until they visit, spinning into our lives like butterflies and fresh jasmine, like the memory of cake batter licked off fingers and the bowl. Was I ever more like them than like me, shoulders undefeated, breathing warmth into days…
15 August, your day. Always.
When you died, I lost my air. Hit with a giant swell of grief which still flows, streaming into streets filled with tears the rains that followed. I stood at the edge of the water diving in and out again and again, seeking relief. The sound of your voice is fleeting. Time is the thief…
Sunflowers
I do not give an explanation every time I write a poem, I just go about with the emotion and hope somebody gets what I’m saying. But this piece of art has a story and one worth telling. In school, back in the early 80s, there was an Art teacher everyone was petrified of: Mrs…
A poem from the past, 1996 to be exact!
15th August has always been special because it is my father’s birthday. I used to love that day more than any other. Even my own birthday paled in comparison…we always got gifts on 15th August, usually there would be a neatly gift-wrapped new box of paints for me waiting at the breakfast table….. in myriad…
To a friend.
There is a sciatica running down a leg but I manage to live with it quite easily. I’m in Calcutta where I swore I never would liveand you’re in the other end of the country, so to speak You tell me you’re unpacking your life from boxes, I wish I could help somehow. In school we…
ipsita banerjee 