My First Short Story at B’khush.com: Let Me Not to The Marriage of True Minds

lovers-hands

Image source: Rebellesociety.com

How do you define love in your lives? Has it been a temporary sickness, an epidemic that has followed you ever since you have known your senses, your being? Is there a love interest, an unrequited one that has haunted you in your later life? Do you believe in the language of pristine love that binds you all your life, no matter what the circumstances of your life do to you?

It is a pleasure to share my first full-length short story published at www.bkhush.com, “Let Me Not To the Marriage of True Minds”, where my protagonists ask themselves questions regarding the true nature and essence of love. A triangular love story based in Kolkata, India, a wayward journey of memories, nostalgia, pain and attachment that binds Sukanya, Aniruddha and Ayan together. Hope the readers will enjoy exploring the journey.

http://www.bkhush.com/dev/content/scattered-pearls-let-me-not-marriage-true-minds

The Forgotten Swan Songs

 

fairy tale

Image source: SurLaLune Fairy Tales Blog. Surlalunefairytales.blogspot.com

 

Rippling in melancholy melodies,
Washing past the jagged edges
Of my furtive calf-love,
My girlhood days breathe in a little nook
Of oblivion, a passing phase,
Forgotten pearls, scratched and resurfaced
In the waves of my kitchen songs,
Nestled in embalming domesticity.

My days, recycling and monitoring
At every turn, I thought my swan songs were long dead.
But a quicksilver flash of torn off petals
Wave at me in the mirror.

In their hushed fog, their half-finished stories
I feel, that their contours are running
Deeper than my brain had thought.

Footnotes: My poetic attempt to celebrate, search for, bring out the scattered pearls of my girlhood days. The days of my fumbling with hormones and love songs, the days of my secretly spun girl stories, the days of my sunshine dreams and the trophy of attaining puberty. Created and developed today while hosting an online poetry workshop for ‘The Woman Inc Poetry Project’. Thank you, Pooja Garg Singh and all other friends at TWIPP!

 

Indian Summer

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Pic credit: Lopa Banerjee

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If some day, I could weep the furnished warmth of your tears,

If some day, my own tears could speak with yours,

Radiant blue, opaque, like the tinsel-hued shore of our childhood days.

 

If our furtive, emaciated tears

could meet in dusty, forsaken doorways,

Ripple and flow, kicked off by the dust of melancholy melodies.

If some day, our tears meet in a wind-drifting trail, lead us

Through mossy courtyards, bumpy, narrow alleys, barking dogs

Stumbling over the curb to the shoreline of our last summer days,

If some day, our tears meet and run over the mirror lake

Dissolve in it in a myth of tenderness, in a high tide night,

The world around us, dark, clingy, tossed with the

Dead wind of our palms, our tears running away

From the narrow strip of the human landscape.

 

I would have made myself at home with your tears,

Be the child again, bursting wide, plundering your open wounds

With my very own, run over with you, hand in hand

Stumbling over random houses,

Crickets, the chocolate brown of our sweat,

Where we had once tripped, in the dark.

 

Copyright: Lopa Banerjee. October 28, 2014

 

Still With Me: A Refrain in the Form of a Single Sentence Essay

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Sojourner

Experimenting with form and structure in Creative Nonfiction can manifest itself in many unique shapes and forms. Take a thought, a particular image that strikes and resonates, and keep expanding it till it looks like a long drawn sentence. What if the sentence, along with the particular image/idea becomes a short essay? It would have never occurred to me as something remotely possible if I had not attended a particular essay workshop where the idea of a single sentence essay was being illustrated. Inspired by the idea, I had written a single sentence short essay ‘Still With Me’ which had later been published in Ampersand Review, a literary journal in Fall 2010.

To me, it looks like a refrain more than an essay, a refrain in broken arms, wounded feet and bleeding palms.

“Every night, you come back to my arms in a sweet surrender; together we weep crystal tears buried in shadows deep as you take me back to the sweaty jostle of clumsy streets wrapped around you, the crescent moon that stands up on your sky bleeding not the red of blood; but the lonely hues of gray that travel the world of the living, the emaciated, neglected brooks and streams that still flow on your way, burying our unspoken words in their darkest waters, the haunting lullabies of my childhood slumber that wander endlessly in the faraway winds, the mistake and redemption of my yesteryears lying in their graves along with the greatest ashes of our shared wounds, the smothering morning mist and the secret moonlight that used to gush through your darkened rooms at the edge of my sleep, the crimson lights that used to flash your lanes, which soon used to grow brutal and blinding, the raindrops that used to pelt on your window panes, the storms that raged within your secret, unknown, unnoticed nooks and corners; and today, traveling through the mists of time, as I remind myself of your darkened rooms, as I try to search for long-lost words and stolen memories buried in your walls which visit my lonely mind, as I hear the echo of the sighing music of your rooms, your staircases, your walls, which seem like whispers uttered in naked air, stirring the darkness with wispy winds as I walk through your doors; I walk right in, through the blinding haze of day and night, a traveler of time seeking a pound of solace in the taste of your world beyond a dream; heaving with a heart that harbors dark alleys of a life walled by silent tears, waiting for you, my long-forgotten home, in the eager darkness of return.”

To know more about Ampersand Review, the literary journal and to read more of their fiction, poetry and nonfiction works, you may visit their page:

http://ampersandreview.com/home/