ipsita banerjee

There was a wound near the ear That never healed. Each evening I would change the dressing The blood never stopped its flow. He would not wince, even As I applied disinfectant trying To be as gentle as possible, As softly and as far as I could go. His eyes glistened with pain and tears …

Abandoned.

A little girl sat on the swing set When I took the dog before dawn. I almost missed her quiet face But the moon was still in form Her face was streaked with tears In her hands she clutched a cloth With which she tried to cover her face Fear upon her visage wrought. I…

This song

This song was lost On the beating wings of a white dove, In the crying eyes of a failed love, In the helplessness of a hushed cry, In the silences of a dense sky. In every heartbreak I have owned. The song was star-crossed But the lone dove found a place to rest, Lovers stopped…

No poem today

I will write no poem today I will just chill, not fret about meter And spend the morning Nursing my coffee and Sudoku. I will not write a stanza today No deep thoughts to construe, No yearnings to express… No quatrain or haiku. I will binge-watch a TV show About haunted houses or spies And…

The poem I was writing

Died a senseless death The body waits In the crowded funeral homes For the rich In lime covered mass graves Of the poor Tortured and twisted In the agony of birth Breathless and blown By gathering storm clouds The cadaver awaits A decent burial.

Waning gibbous

Cages

I did not wring its neck, but The blue budgie died by my hand When I opened the gate of the cage, Where it stayed on the balcony. A crow pounced on it all at once Ripped it to shreds while I cried Struck with horror. I was a toddler But I already hated the cage. …

I: Itinerant : The roads I take

On my way to work I often shut my eyes and in my mind I am on a road that does not race through a concrete jungle Where there are no buildings or the jostle of cars Where roads wind through mist ridden hills Lined with pine trees that rise above the clouds Curving through…

H: Hazard: This poem

I wrote no poem yesterday, The words dried up, constricting My throat, like the onset of a bad cold, A hacking cough and fever. Fever is a bad word now, Being sick is a colossal mistake. The cousin passed away last week No, it wasn’t the Novel Corona virus She had been suffering, and was…

F: Faces: Limitations

My eyes are mere windows With which I watch the world, My face is but a mirror, Behind which I hide my soul. Charm me not into believing That I am anything more than that Let my dreams not become bigger Than something I am not. Treat me kindly, still Lest I shatter into pieces…