If my grief has lost it’s bite, what will I write about? Will my words have guts and grit, will they make you cry? I got the colour palette mixed up, the hues lost in words I never wanted to have to say. I never did find the knives that were pulled out of my…
afloat…
We indulge our passions, unthinking of the ripples we make. I am most alive when I am dead underwater, cocooned in it’s gentle caress. No hacking cough, not even the pain that shoots down my leg on land. This poem flows therefrom like the drops that slide off my back as I take a turn…
Mountains of missing…
We wrest from the Earth what we cannot possibly return, the rocks, the Rhododendron claiming it to be our own; a sad little goat tied to a pole, bleating for a mother, a ghost long slaughtered. Any stretch of land, we strip and tar and pave, get a shout-out for this impudent achievement. People throng…
the mountains, the mountains…
These are the mountains, the misty mountains where the rocks wait, to sing in chorus, frowning music into a scar. Here there are mountains, closed, misty mountains they do not care if we aren’t. Or are, for that’s how it is and always were. For in the larger scheme of things, life is not life,…
Different shores.
All seas are one, in a manner of speaking,water flows to water. Standing at the Bay of Bengalmy feet are touched by waves that may have kissedPacific shores. No matter how we look at it,all Gods too, are one, even the ones that are not. I thought of my mother, on a Fowler’s bed,who could…
dust to dust
The end is always near, Death waits right round the corner, softly watching your approach nearer than the second before; Fear is superfluous: for all that is born, will die one day; the jewels you lust after will glitter in someone else’s ear. The house we built, too will fall to seed with the wind…
Water on water (#worldpoetryday)
Water on water: the things that matter. Impossible to describe the deep empty longing, in the voice of dogs. My childhood was elsewhere. The light shone, a thread through the eye of a needle I had to fit into. Calcutta is a big city, the grandest in our region. But the wind still howls, specially…
Cages, poetry written by Ipsita Banerjee at Spillwords.com
Spillwords.com presents: Cages, poetry by Ipsita Banerjee, a mother, lawyer, dreamer, intrepid traveler, poet, blogger, writer …. Source: Cages, poetry written by Ipsita Banerjee at Spillwords.com
The Ganges at Chinsurah
Floating on the river I realise it’s not the setting sun or the bridge in the distance, it’s a woman in whose arms lives have been lost and loved. The river today is not the same as yesterday and the water snaking will be changing soon, The river today changes by the second yet remains…
The graveyard.
In this graveyard a boy once proposed to me, We were young and callous and the world Lay at our feet. We climbed the broken wall To get inside, we did that often, my friends and I Daring each other to stay on till dark, exploring Among tombstones, reading aloud the words Left for the…
ipsita banerjee 