Forlorn

Image Source: hdw.eweb4.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Did I lose you somewhere
Between the hyacinth and the ribbons
The pleats and folds of my adult drape?

I know you still wait for me, my moon
As the night flutters, the unfailing rose
Drunk with solitude and honeyed longing.

I breathe shallow and deep, my eyes
Swept away by stardust, I am alone
You milk, eager and firm, waits for me
At the shore of the night.

Between my trembling lips and voice,
Your song hides in the fugitive wind,
Slender and silent, you walk away,
Barefoot, soaking in the night’s last ashes.

Did I call you, my white hills
Breaking, sinking at the wake of dawn?
I return to the day, dust blown
Crushing sand beneath my feet,

You have sliced me to pieces,
I move, unsure, forlorn, in spirals
Of smoke as I call you out
My moorings trapped in the day, dying.

Footnote: Written for a weekend writing prompt on the moon, “the quintessential silver orb that steals our heart every night”, as had been put by my fellow poet Vinita Agrawal at the Woman Inc Poetry Project.
Copyright: Lopa Banerjee. February 23, 2015

The Other Self of Chaos is Love

Note for readers: A prose-poem on love, my delightful daughters and cooked food.

If you want to know more about our home, pierce your feet in the stained carpets sticky with remnants of hot chocolate, chewed edges of ‘mickey mouse’ stickers and the foam of carpet shampoo. You can observe, over the next few hours, the unruly symphony of baby voices, the happy kitchen spatula cooking fried fish, the robotic stillness of the laptop, the prosaic murmuring of adult voices. You can see tears, bickering and grief, returning through the back door, like a hungry, homeless dog.

Let your feet soak the dust and dirt of the unkempt rooms. Let your fingers touch the walls smeared with crayons and pencils. Let your hands touch the unwashed linens, feel their crinkled corners. Do not still lose your mind. You are the uninvited visitor. You will know our little moments of disruption and calm. Wait until you listen to the rocking and weeping of tiny bodies melting into sweet dreams while you know, they will breathe safely inside the womb of an earth plagued with danger and pain. They will breathe, until the world outside will suck them, into ruthlessness and sin.

Welcome to the den of midnight movies and spicy fish curries. Wait until you feel the rhymes of our speech and the melody of lullabies. Amid the chaos and running around and the sputtering of hot oil and cooked food, you will see lovers. They will be there in the room, kissing beside the windowsill, looking at the pale moonlight in the frozen winter sky. They will find you, threaten to cover you like the dark fog rolling in. They will see your prying eyes, staring at their stained walls and carpets, unwashed bedroom linens, unclean kitchen, overloaded dishwashers and the stack of unfinished laundry. They will sense your cautious queries, your voyeuristic pleasures and curiosity.
Let them revel in their own, imperfect world of chaos and love. While you step out of this world, bid adieu to the noisy footsteps, to the rhythms and sounds, to the stains and dust that adorn the home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ode to Sweet Dreams and Fairy Tales

Author’s Note: For my daughters, the apples of my eyes, Srobona (Mithi) and Sharanya (Rimli), a small gift from Mamma on their birthday.

Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty waltz with their prince charmings

In the painted carnival of cherry blossoms and butterflies,

In the wonderland of your dreams, sweet dreams,

Every night, starry starry night, where I behold you in your silky slumber–

With tender kisses and cuddles,

I seal my enduring trust in your tiny bodies–

My mind, a wanderer in the dark, lustful world,

Yet craving to embrace your sweet nothings….

Soon the wonderland of your dreams will fade away,

The mud and soil of this giant world will surround you,

Howl in your ears to grow up, let go.

Let there still be room for the serenity and magic of your dreamland,

Let the fragrance of human love and life be yours’ still,

In the vain world where you may open your eyes tomorrow.