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…
Tag: poem
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…
Broken
After I shake out my pockets, I come up with nothing But grains of sand And some tobacco dust From a cigarette smoked A multitude ago. All that which spun In the washing machine And landed here turned out to be other morose beings like myself. We were two sisters But Mother always said She…
Going home.
After the last drop of chemo Has dripped through the IV The nurses flush the site Ice pack the swollen hand And remove all the evidence You look at me with those eyes. Silent, wide and expressive, “Can we go home now?” We cannot, the doctors Want you bound to this place To this bed…
Hands
After I fumble yet another conversation About the miseries of war That no one wants to be part of, I think of the world taking up arms, For whatever reason, Each and every one of them wrong. You wouldn’t have hesitated To shoot their chest-thumping down. But the world has changed, I’ve tried, Fear be…
33 years
Not all men are equal, some less than others. Some rant and rage, some pillage Spread aggression and hate Not caring of the spillage. Some are nice, some even mean well Some carry barbs in the words they say Yet some are benign, some upright And some are always on display. And then there’s you:…
never alone… how long is a piece of string?
if i said i do not care that you were a doctor, or a sweeper, would you forgive me? i imagine you stretched out and weeping over your broken body, watching, not able to look away from the man taking what was never his. if i tell you, you could have been a pauper or…
Dachau Concentration Camp
We destroy, we maim, we claim and kill what we cannot hold on to. We inter the bones, burn the bodies of dissident thoughts, place our fears in isolated camps and call it freedom. There is no comfort to be found And hope is in retreat. All that is, is politics and war, it’s insidious…
ipsita banerjee 