Windowsill
Cycles moving like Ferraris.
“It must be those boys”, said she.
From my windowsill, I wished to show her the
girls,
Patriarchy banged her head, she had to flee.
They drove away towards the endless meadows,
Till they melted in my eyes.
From my windowsill, I saw their demons chasing,
As I saw her freedom’s demise.
“I loved her, you know”, said she, as tears fell
down like a fallen woman.
The evening suddenly turned crimson and changed
to grey.
She was not there as I turned,
But the note she left had a lot to say.
That night I leaned by my rusty windowsill,
The cycles haunted like the starry night, I
could see... I could see...
The red moon has melted in my blood, in her
blood.
Yet we strangled ourselves to be free.
I leaned on my windowsill, yet again.
What made me a woman? What made him a man?
A man looked at me as he spat the juice of a
betel-leaf,
I shouldn’t question, isn’t it? I am a woman.
“She was a good girl”, said they, as they
carried the corpse.
She was forgotten in time’s scorching wink.
She was carried away as I leaned by my
windowsill,
And she was decorated all in red and pink.
The
Ashes Of Spring
Amidst a summer dusk you dropped like a bird
forlorn.
In search of a story my Spring got burned,
everyday.
Every night in autumnal memories, I craved for
this Spring.
The cuckoos were tired to sing, as you hummed
into my ears your solitary existence.
I melted in the words, not in the heat.
The song of Spring was on repeat.
Five minute fights, you see.
Like this, the Spring never ever sang to me.
The red ashes from black fire browned my eyes.
I saw nothing in the light, in the darkness I
saw everything.
The same Spring it is, when we consumed hatred,
The red ashes flew with dusts of black love.
My eyes shivered in amazement, glittered in
amour.
It was you whom I was searching for.
The lost souls revived, the lost hearts found in
the short showers of Spring.
Long long back we had melted in the winter.
In every evening palette, I painted the joy you
bring.
In every season, I re-lived my ashes of Spring.
This year summer didn’t scorch.
This year summer lulled me in its warmth.
The black vapours of the red heart didn’t haunt
me anymore,
For I burned like winter, every time I felt you.
The Phoenix sings again of Icarus' wing,
And I rise again from the ashes of Spring.
Sightseeing
I saw love walking down the rocky roads,
I saw love walking down the corridors.
I saw love walking in the misty air,
I saw love walking with messy hair.
I saw love shrouded in mystery,
I saw love in arguments and victory.
Love vapoured from the brewing coffee cups,
I saw love in hyacinths and breakups.
I saw love promising milestones,
I saw love in broken gramophones.
I saw love in every starlit night,
I saw love which blinded my sight.
I saw love in honeyed rhetoric,
I saw love in a handful of sand and a piece of
brick.
I saw love in beauty and rain,
I saw love in an everlasting pain.
I saw love in a playful lyre,
I saw love as love burned fire.
I saw love when I sang a song,
I saw love which was not meant for long.
I saw love in sharing one earphone,
I saw love when I walked alone.
I saw lovers waking and dreaming,
I saw love, with arms wide opening.
Sangeeta
Banerjee
Sangeeta
Banerjee is currently pursuing M.A. (Master of Arts) in
English from the University of Calcutta. She is a great admirer of the literary
stalwarts like Rabindranath Tagore, William Shakespeare, Sylvia Plath, James
Joyce and T.S. Eliot. Her hobbies include reading, reciting and listening to
music. She is a keen learner and is interested in writing poems and short
stories. She aspires to be a professor and a poet as the same time. She loves
to be associated with any creative activity, especially with creative writing
and recitation. She is a reader of poems and she is eager to send her poems and
writings to various journals and magazines.