Author: Shreya Roychoudhury

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Violence

The leaves rustled under the command
Of a known stranger,
The one who lashed the roads,
And drove away a cloud of dust,
Baring them to his harshness, 
And paid a tribute to the Night’s delineation
Of an upheaval in tranquility.

The sores on the exterior vanished
Before moisture could sympathize.
The catastrophe building up inside,
Far away from Sympathy,
Sought help from Empathy,
To which it’s access was denied.
A storm broke out in no time,
The dark Kohl lining agreed to succumb
To the rush of brine.

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Unrest

Silence lost in the mystery of yesterday,
Narrates a story;
Surpassing the strict check of your armoured mind
I whisper into your ears,
Of dreamy mornings in the days of yore.
I hope you never heard the sound of my stealthy steps.
Not knowing who you were,
I spent hours basking in the mirth of an unplanned misery.
I hope you never felt the warmth of my palms,
My touch lacked the capacity to stir emotions.
My eyes never revealed anything without your permission,
The shine talked about the mischief of dust.
My lips never broke a promise
Even when I was breaking into pieces,
Dousing myself in the fire of agony,
All by myself.
I just hope that this is just a hope.

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Twenty four on Twenty Fourth

Hiding behind the kitchen wall,
A chubby girl eats chocolates;
She sings all day and plays with a Barbie doll,
Her restless legs now refuse to crawl.
Two shiny ponytails swing turn by turn
As her head revolts against boredom
And moves back and forth;
She says annoyingly,
“How long do I wait for March 24?”

The years,
Unable to keep track of untold stories,
Reflected on her face with utmost honesty.
That smile now beguiled some of the shiniest stars in the sky,
The teary eyes plagiarized twinkling happiness
And died every moment in the fire of a new lie.
Her restlessness has succumbed to contemplative rantings,
Yet she has her childish ways of loving herself.
A daring sweetheart with a heart of straw,
She says,
“I turn twenty four and I’m bold.
Even by mistake, don’t call me old.”




P.S.: I just turned Twenty four today and I thought of treating myself with something unique and hence, this poem.
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Who are you?

Who are you?
Somebody whom I think I know
Or just an imagination,
Who claims to know me?

Are you that unearthly tuft of grass,
Lying on the ground,
Years ago,
Seemingly real,
When I rewind, it reads,
“Error 404: File not found.”?

Are you an era,
Where parody becomes the new praise,
Clarity defines haze?
A face in the crowd that stands still,
And when I look around,
I fall prey to my demons again.

Who are you?
The face of the one I see,
And the soul of somebody I feel?
Do you know who you are?
Do you belong to this unreal reality?

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Liberation

Hey, can you see?
The flowers of my presence,
Confide in your evening.
I try to stand strong,
Why do you shake me up?
Why do you make me sink?
Why do I die broke in your penury?

Hey, look up!
Will you please?
I see strangers,
People like you and me;
We stand quiet,
They hit us like nobody.

Hey, don’t you worry!
By mistake,
I won’t tell you to anybody.
A battle you are,
Never to be fought.
I am lost in myself,
Liberated in your thought.

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Lost

Flashes of light
Drowning unknown faces;
You cannot see yourself,
How can you see anyone else?
You’re lost
But you don’t know in whose world.

You don’t even know
Whether these flashes of light
That you’re holding on to
Will die out
Or just
Enbalm you for a moment.

A frizzy moment;
Scratching your nerves,
Ticking on your mind,
Preying on your soul,
Fading out in a moment.

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Absence

The doleful night begs for a calm closure,
Sleepless eyes hanker for darkness;
Nostalgia screams out in agony,
To get rid of it’s existence.
I wonder,
How strong is my Persistence?

Whenever I look back,
I see your eyes stealing the smile
Of your lips locked up by Denial.
Seconds spin yarns in seconds
To give rise to a number of years;
You stand behind me,
Ageless, flawless and speechless.

You dwell in the intricacies of my silence;
Words flow out of my eyes as droplets of Reminescence.
Trials of forgetting you have
Etched your presence deeply on my mind.
Far away from the ‘Fading Green’,
We will see each other in the woods,
Once again.
And there, you will be mine.

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Remembered the roses

-“What’s your favourite story in our prose book?”

-“Remember the roses, by Avery Taylor.”

That story was not a part of our syllabus but the sweetness with which he uttered it’s title, aroused a “brow arching” curiosity in my mind.
I went back home, left no stones unturned to avoid an unnecessary round of questions from my parents,  headed straight towards my room and kept on flipping the pages of the book until I found the right one; I was startled to find two roses stuffed in there! I couldn’t read the story and it has remained untouched since then.

I stopped seeing him after that; I wish I had not tried to find the answers to some questions that were lingering inside my head, demise blends “forever” with “never” in a tricky way, that makes denial more consoling as compared to acceptance and at one point we are left with no choice other than succumbing to the situation.
He left behind a memory that haunts me even after years and it grieves a lot to say, “Yes, I remembered the roses…”

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The coin

In an unpleasant moment of silence,
Emotions bottled up in years,
Unable to break the confines of the rosy liars,
Twinkled in her eyes.

Goodbyes got exchanged in a handshake.
A coin was all that she could hand him over,
Parting from each other was inevitable;
The conflict between “once more” and “one last time”
Cleared up the haze in her mind.
At once, she knew what she wanted.

Did the wait of expectations end there?
No, she wasn’t allowed to expect.
The silvery souvenir knew the depth of her feelings,
Being expressionless,
It felt sorry for its owner.

The willingness to linger resulted in looking back often,
The trembling followers of her senses
Craved to hold on to the fading lights.
She wondered,
Does every beautiful start need to have an abrupt end?
Or maybe,
The ending is delusionary.

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Rumination

I cannot see that hand;
The one that held mine loosely,
Leaving me perplexed.
Observations fall prey to a bizarre delusion,
Truth acts like yesterday’s hallucination.

Truth?
Wrapped in the robes of action,
Your eyes narrate concoctions of passion.
Words entwine subtle gestures,
Obscuring reality from deception.

Disappearing smiles besiege me ad nauseam,
Memories prefer to stay locked up in the Museum.
Ruminations guide me into a land not known;
Dead ends break into labyrinths of life,
To honour the quest of my toes.

I keep on lighting extinguished candles,
Burning my fingers in the fire of woes.
A cicatrix shows up on your fist,
The real gashes are elsewhere,
Hidden behind the masquerade of ‘nowhere’.
See through it, see through it!

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