The Forbidden

It’s surely one of those days when she bites her own lips to taste that fertile blood,
Swirling down generations of feminine waste.
It’s surely one of those nights when the moonbeams of her breasts
Are a red, sticky glue taped to the quirks of patriarchy yet again.
It’s surely one of those days when her poetry and art have drowned in
A bottomless pit of her own making,
And she fails to make a home out of the world that she sucks fill throttle.
It’s surely one of those failed poems which she sucks in one of her veins
Like a faulty blood transfusion,
Or else, why would it spill over the bloodmoon of her naked body in the washroom, and perturb her kith and kin,
Women and men who would rather love her to be a hired womb, spread her legs in between cycles,
Take in a man’s lust and seed and emit
The seedlings as newborns meshed with her own blood and mucus
And then smile, coy and righteous
When those of her kith and kin glorify her tomfoolery of surrendering?
It’s surely one of those nights when she stares at her stark body, the sagging abdominal muscles, the aching pelvic bones, the poetry of her stretch marks and wonders if her body was only a dubious shrine of parochial needs.
It’s surely one of those days when she strived to be something more than a creeper in obeisance with the darkness and idiocy of myths muttered,
Recycled, from the junkyards of unquestioned faith that they call ‘religion’.
It’s surely one of those nights when she knows she doesn’t give a damn
Whether she is a woman, a wife, a mother, a slut or a poet or an artisan.
She can be all of the above, or none,
For that matter, she can laugh away the fucking bullshit of labels hurled at her,
Falling out of her life in quick succession like the milk teeth of her childhood, for giving way to her adult grins.
All she can do in a slender, lustful night like this when her failed poetry wants to enter her like a nude, impatient lover
Is to lead him, deeper and deeper
In her dark, inner trenches and then,
Die out, together with him,
In unnamed kisses and smothering.

All Rights Reserved. Lopa Banerjee. July 11, 2017

Advertisements

Let The Night Sing: My Maiden Poetry Collection

It gives me much happiness to share that my maiden poetry collection ‘Let The Night Sing’, an assortment of 70 various poetic musings on being a woman, a mother and a lunar soul has been published by respected poet laureate and veteran litterateur Madan Gandhi sir and Global Fraternity of Poets (India) and is now on Amazon India. Soon to be available in the US and worldwide.

I thank dear fellow poet, amazing artist and co-founder of Rhythm Divine Poets, Sufia Khatoon for the brilliant cover illustration, Dr. Santosh Bakaya for the very in-depth and enriching foreword, Dr. AV Koshy for the kind and generous blurb encompassing the theme and the nuances of the poems.

Sharing the introduction page of the book, which speaks of the overarching theme of the poems. Hope some of you will like reading it.

Introduction:

‘Bodies are visible hieroglyphics. Everybody is an erotic metaphor and the meaning of all these metaphors is always the same; death.’
Octavio Paz

For those who are in love with the poetry of the body, continue to revel in it through its bruises and blood, continue to see the molecules of living glittering in darkness, for those who talk to the strained ribs of our Mother Earth, to the hollowness and inviting quiet of cities and landscapes in your dreams and waking, for those who see even in the body of death, a gorgeous, pitiless song in its smoky embers, here I present my lunar musings, springing up from the splinters and shards of my being. These broken pieces, these wayward poems have taken me to unexpected places, delving deep into my childhood and puberty. With them, I have seen my womanhood evolve, with them I have traveled to the long-forsaken terrains of my hometown in Kolkata, India, where I keep going back again and again. With them, I have recorded the phenomenon of death as I have seen it, a silent language of communion, as my voice flattened against its ethereal quiet.
Hope you will enjoy the ride, the bumps and bolts along the way.
Lopa Banerjee

Let the night sing_Lopa Banerjee

The Amazon India link to buy the book:

http://www.amazon.in/Let-Night-Sing-Lopamudra-Banerjee/dp/9383755342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1499285605&sr=8-1&keywords=Let+The+Night+Sing