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…
Tag: AprilA2Z2020
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…
E: Edges : Time
Time moves differently here, Slowly, sluggishly, lips clinging To the edge of the glass. Time weeps unshed tears here Fears that went unnoticed Bursting open scabs on the wounds Time laughs at mankind here Those who think they can divide us Do we not all bleed when hurt? Time sees our true selves here As…
D: Death-toll: Comfort
There are no opioids here, No wisdom to be shared. The bitterness of the pill Is directly proportional To your love for everything Human. Which is not always Lovable. Yet there are people Who hold our hearts Those that we think of and Wish to keep safe. Alas, the virus has no country or calling….
C: COVID-19: Lockdown
Even as I slept I dreamt about the poem I’d write Today. In the silence it comes back to me “How to make a garlic sizzle”. Of course You melt the butter and let the pod hiss In the pan. I realise of course it was just a dream Who writes of garlic and everyday…
B: Blotchy : Messy
I always hated to stay Between the lines The lines on the page The lines of my face My colours splashed Outside the box Messy, they called me, And messy I stayed. I had my share of trouble Straying from the lines The lines that life drew Confining me in walls I will not be…
A: Amusical: Tone Deaf
I would give and arm and a leg To play the piano for you again. You would lie back on the sofa And my little fingers would pick out the tune. Alas my fingers are now too soft The notes just squiggly shapes Music beaten out of my life By choice, or was it compulsion?…
ipsita banerjee 