Waiting For Spring
Symphony of a thousand barking dogs silenced the mist
that sliced through the fragments of a silken drape
hovering on the piano chord.
It wasn’t Mozzart, nor Beethoven.
A blinded eternity sucked you through the red tongues
of leaping flames of the fireplace.
No, the fire had died down,
not enough logs to keep its hunger alive.
I hammered at the chords again,
The dogs gnarled loud, an evil charm seething through,
trying to drown your shrieks,
as whip after whip lashed past forcing you
to surrender the mist and let your lava flow.
You only cried, shouted, you resisted.
Not to allow the veil to unveil.
My fingers felt hurt as I hit harder and harder
at the keys, embodying your cries into mine.
Yet, they made music, lilting with your sobs
Dancing on the notes of the flame
that hid behind the mist,
waiting for my song.
My Forest Chase
All these years I chased a golden fawn.
It led me from dark gutters
to blind alleys at
stroke of pre dawns.
I sped from towns to cities,
Dirty shanties to sleeping mansions,
One square meals to grand dinners.
Power and glamour,
riding on the chase of the golden fawn.
But I forgot pleading eyes
Of the mother doe that left its blushing fawn, and was
suddenly gone.
Resting a forest's morning dew,
Her eyelashes colouring a painter's brush.
I had no seconds to spare
in my utter rush,
Trying to capture its golden fawn.
On fringes of my greedy chase,
The forest hues still turned from green to a golden haze.
On inviting autumn days,
when the fawn led me across moss swept ways.
With crickets and grasshoppers
trotting on grassblades,
Doves making love in shades.
Purple mayflowers calling me
to rest my tired legs,
And get lost in their colourful maze.
Yet I ran on my never ending chase,
Forgetting the sunkissed forest ways,
That promised me bliss.
I cared not, I gave it a miss,
Blinded by the golden fawn.
Deflowered
And her little hands again banged
on my car window.
She had the bunch of flowers still
clutched close to her heart.
And just the other day you bought
those wildflowers from her.
Softly touched my blushed skin
with their stalks.
She was happy too.
She had smiled at the money earned.
I smiled too, for the love
your flowers brought.
A whiff of fragrance.
It again wafted through the north wind today.
I rolled the windows down, as my car came to a halt.
She stretched her hands out, looking for you.
Her smile vanished.
The seat by me was empty.
Her eyes met my vacant ones.
She tore the petals, her head bowed.
A tear drop trickled down on my lap
Where you had put the wildflowers
that day and made love!
Saheli Mitra
Saheli Mitra is a
journalist, author and poet based in Kolkata. She has worked with one of the
leading media houses of India for 20 years and is currently Head of Content at
P&M Communications, handling several news and entertainment portals and
social media pages across the spectrum. Saheli's debut romantic novel Lost
Words, launched internationally, received rave reviews while her short stories
have featured in collections such as Half Baked Love, Knitted Narratives and
Meri Kahani. As a poet, Saheli's verses on love, feminism, protest and nature
have appeared in Yellow Chair Review, Piker Press, Du-Kool of USA, in
iamnotasilentpoet of Spain, RandomPoemTree of Trinidad, Asian Signature, Taj
Mahal Review, Love and War Anthology, Feathers, Muffled Moans and other prestigious
printed publications. She also runs a Nature Group called To Trees With Love.