I
Still Remember That Day
I
looked at the blue wild sky,
The
sky that is as vast as eternity,
The
sky that holds the Universe in its lap,
When
the stars started telling me the stories of ancient times,
As
crazy as it sounds, something inside me broke, and as if captured on film,
I
found myself slowly sinking to my knees.
The
tears began rolling down my cheeks without warning until soon I knew I was
sobbing.
What
reflex betrays one like this?
What
chemistry did the blue sky and the stars create within me ?
What
inside me had malfunctioned had left me kneeling and sobbing for no reason?
Was
the sky calling me to join the clouds and I cried because I could not soar the
new heights ?
Or
Was I crying because I was in a fight with the devil within who did not let me
fly ?
Someone
saw me crying, touched my shoulder with compassion and told me: “Just cry. Just
cry. Free yourself.” But free myself from what, exactly?
You
see, I want this whole thing to be something meaningful,
My
falling to my knees just by looking at the sky and crying uncontrollably.
But
nothing meaningful has presented itself.
Even
now, after so much time has passed, I have no clue
What
any of this means.
I
still have not figured out whether I lost myself or found myself that day.
Sky
The
sky is a vast blue canvas
I
splash colors of happiness and sadness together.
The
sky is all-inclusive
I
reach out to sky, to get away
From
all anxieties and stress.
When
my imaginations roam free,
Clouds
lend me words,
To
write blissful poetry.
The
sky is my world,
Creative,
colorful, secretive
Where
I do not have to fake,
Where
I am myself,
Always.
Daffodils
Are
you a perennial flower for real or a poet’s imagination?
Who
first coined your name daffodils?
The
dewdrops or the dawn?
A
newspaper boy or the rising sun?
Could
I see you as a bright yellow bloom from the clouds If I were floating as they?
Could
I feel you the way I feel now if I were born as a goat or a nerd?
Are
you brought from famous distant countries of which I have never heard?
O’
dear horticulturist!
O’
dear Traveler!
O’
dear wise man from the skies!
Please
show me the place where a piece of life called Daffodil lives!
Monalisa
Dash Dwibedy
Monalisa Dash Dwibedy is an IT Consultant by
day and a writer by night. A bilingual writer, her English poems were published
in many international anthologies and magazines. She is the author of Odia
poetry book “Anjulae Smruti” (A handful of memory). She loves travelling and
feels mountains call her when she is nearby. She aspires to befriend the
Himalayan mountain ranges and wishes she could talk to the Sun and the Moon
someday. Monalisa lives in Toronto, Canada. She can be reached at Monalisa.dash@gmail.com