Srijani Dutta

Desires and metropolis

Spaces of speed Spaces of Inertia

Spaces of noiseless voices, Spaces contain machines and factories.

Spaces of Jazz, blues,

Spaces of melodies of 90’s

Classics, rock, heavy metals and robotics.

Spaces of Swizz cream

Selling in the multistoried buildings

Along with pink strawberry, red cherry

On top of it

Evoking a lustrous desire

For experience.

Desire for hills, roads, and vales,

Desire for the scoop of Lavender’s smell,

Desire for the tinge of Maiden’s blood

Desire for the aroma of

Water lilies;

A flamboyant boy

Walking up and Down

From the edge to the Centre –

All interweaves a kind of restless Colour;

Light coming out from the Microcosmic hearts of people

Covered with Insane madness

To all directions

Of the cemented space

Called-

Metropolis.

The Mood of Diwali

Red, red petals of a soul

Spread its five limbs

Over its trunk like body,

When the darkness comes

It scrawls like a caterpillar

Sings like a nightingale

Inhales the earthly poison

And transforms her body

Into enigmatic blue.

The combo of red, blue and black

Does not cause fear,

Rather

It emits a light,

A light that is calm

A light that is reflexive

A light that is dropping

Like the gold coins

From the matrix

In the land of starved bellies.

The light brings hope

The same light brings joy

In the form of firecrackers

And pandal hopping.

From alleys to roads,

Only sound can be heard,

Sound of passerby

Sound of mikes,

Sound of mantras

All that construes the mood

Of Diwali

Till the adieu of all idols.

Note: Kali is the Hindu Goddess. During kali puja, people gather, burst firecrackers and enjoy holidays.

The Potters

Muddy hands are busy shaping

Something great, immortal

From dawn to dusk

In the days of September and October,

When the firmament paints

The blue veils of milky clouds

And the school goers wait

For the bells,

Layers after layers

Of mud and dust

Revealing their craft

Tinged with the aroma of their souls

To give it a life,

They forget how to make peace

With sleepless toil.

Sometimes, the clothes of grey

Spread across the sky

It causes a pain in their heart

As it brings a downpour

That can nullify all these

Muddy skins and bones.

Still, a flicker of flame

Latent in their heart

Erases the worries

And makes them

Experiment with

Shapes and forms.

Epiphany

Epiphany happens

In minutes, seconds;

If one fails to realize

It evaporates

Into thin air.

Alas!

The soul

Remains

There

Searching for

Truths

In deep philosophical fragments.

Noise and Sound

Silence-

A deep silence;

But-

There is no silence in my head-

A constant noise inside my head-

A bizarre cacophony-

A clamour-

A sound of different voices wants

to get free,

Recognized and out.

Here, I am sitting with no ease and peace.

My mind is bursting out in anticipation,

Fear-

And all the terrible emotions;

I try to sleep

But, nothing happens.

Sleep needs relaxation

And a calm space;

If the space is occupied with noise,

How can one find solace?

Srijani Dutta, a writer and independent researcher hails from a beautiful place, Chandannagar of India. She loves reading books, watching movies and expressing herself through colours, words, and images. Her creative and academic writings, paintings have been published in the journals like Setu, Parcham, Contemporary Literary Review India, Story Mirror, EKL review journal, Plato’s cave online journal, The Antonym, RIC, Atunis poetry, Das Literarisch, Saaranga magazine, literary cognizance, Borderless journal, Creative chromosomes, Rappahannock review, Fourth river journal, Synchronized Chaos, Beatnik Cowboy journal, Literary Yard, Langlit, Ritvi journal, SLC, Culture Matters, Yearly Shakespeare and New Literaria Etc.

Saneesh Sajeeb

ALLURING BELLE

Amidst the swinging autumn leaves,

Her eyes twinkle in delight.

She sparked a grin piercing the breezy dusk,

Her lips embarrassed the rose petals as they hid themselves in the moonlight,

Her nesh tiny fingers teasing the falling phyllon,

Her jewels made her a mermaid springing from the Tomb of King Tut.

Her meticulous charm eased the ferocious of beasts,

She dazzled in the moon,

Anticipating her Romeo, with the promptness of Juliet.

THE GREAT HOLLOW

No known catechism exists on an eternal darkness,

Nor a soul has resurfaced to grant vision on the ‘Great Hollow’.

Leaving behind all the blandishments and ostentation of the superficial tangent, goes into the Hollow, no longer the joy of witnessing the ‘Lively Fire’.

Thy blunt rodomonte won’t save thee.

Neither thy beloved lass, nor the butterflies she mellowed thee shall perpetuate this ‘Hollow’.

O, thou human soul, thy time shall arrive to cwtch a night with no moon but, peril darkness.

Be thy good or evil, shan’t transcend it.

SOUL OF SOLACE

The night looked serene,

As was her caress,

The moon shimmered through the spring leaves twinkling the same mischief as her eyes,

The sun was too strong for her delicate touch and the moon was too weak to embrace her,

Her eyes strung a melodious tune and her lips carved into an enchanting smile,

She smelled like Eden,

Her fragrance blossoming flowers twice as gorgeous as she is,

Her fluffy locks dancing in the twilight gale,

Each time the moon cast his sensual gaze at her,

She was the incarnation of beauty,

And beauty is love, the ultimate solace.

ROARING RED, WEEPING WASP

I saw a mirage outlined with blood stains.

I peeped further into the mirage and, uhh, to my despair, felt a tiny droplet at the tip of my nose piercing the lively air.

Alas, my hands were not at its reflexive best to feel what just ended at the tip of my nose as if they never cared or rather, frozen in fear…

With the droplet untouched, I gazed into the mirage and saw people,

Feeding animals, sowing crops, harvesting, selling and buying and sharing all the most contagious enticing smiles into the inner depths of each other.

to be present in the only moment that might scatter in the secret of the dark matter.

I smiled at that harmonious symphony only to be awakened by the droplet that now dripped onto my arm and before I could make sense of anything,

Piercing yet, satisfied from the wicked outrush of anguish, eyes looked at me in point blank.

I have been stung, ahh, dear o dear wasp.

It was indeed a mirage and the blood red outline was not just red blood but, the saga of a storm that was the melody of a Chilean bard to fill the gaps between every unknown human fin-gers….brothers.

Here, I am left with the red drop of sting on my skin and the red hope of the Chilean phoenix on my soul.

As the wasp flew farther away in search of another skin, I stayed there,

unflinching, faintly contemplating on the

red weeping on the skin into the leaden abyss of the sand by the epic roar of the red from beneath the soul….

Saneesh Sajeeb is from Kottayam, Kerala. He is a graduate in English Literature from the University of Kerala. His poems have appeared in Puzha Magazine and Mangalam. When he isn’t writing, he enjoys traveling with his better half.

Ranjana Sharan Sinha

LANTANA

She wakes up before dawn

and strides out

for the bungalows

to do the chores.

Like the lantana–

Mauve and bright yellow,

rooted in the dry, rocky

stretch of soil–

A span full of forked

and twiggy stuff of bushes,

brown with dried leaves,

She survives!

Silent secrets deep within,

stick out their tongues

much against her wishes

and retreat into

the closet of mouth!

A descent of the primitive race,

a statue of black marble

with a pair of full round breasts,

she was created and destructed

in the dim interiors:

Corridors with undefined rooms,

kitchens with pungent smells

of garlic and fish fry,

and air-conditioned halls

where status frothed in tall glasses.

Hours, days and years

fled like flamingos

migrating to alien lands

during her arduous journey

through life–A pain-dense track!

No merciful break

from the heat waves that

baked her twenty precious springs!

On many hot days

and stormy nights,

she became a polythene bag

stuck to a tree branch–

Got inflated like a balloon,

and deflated swinging in the wind.

Now the woman wants

to stop her oscillation

between frost and fire:

She looks up above her world

and finds the tangerine sky–

She hears the footsteps of morning

who crushes the dim

chandeliers of a starlit sky

to become the chairperson

of an inaugural session!

AN EARTHQUAKE

The earth was asleep under the stars

lost in lovely dreams:

The moon travelled around her

in an elliptical orbit,

the biotic and the abiotic

weaved the fibres of her dreams–

The warp and woof of her life.

The roaring oceans jumping

out of their fascinating depths

constantly kissing the shoreline

and leaving saline trails–

Beautiful, wild and mysterious

with their unbound might!

Breathtaking mountains

Rising out of landscape

reaching high into the sky!

The ethereal glow of roses–

The phosphorescence of dew

tipping their petals!

The psithurism of trees in the breeze

swinging in the gusts of the night!

All of a sudden, there was a blast

chilling the great mother to the marrow:

War, weapon, blood and destruction!

The beauty, peace and harmony

were shattered: The Earth winced aghast

at the sound and sight!

She began to quake

belching out smoke and fire:

Rainbow colours turned into

blood-red and black!

 WHITE FOG

Cold December morning–

Grey and misty,

mourns the death of the sun.

I look out of the window:

Fog like clouds

has settled in my front yard,

trees have become silhouettes

against a blanket of white.

In the still silence

I feel the hug of

the whitened haze!

I just want to bury

myself in the fog!

The hug feels so special:

The slight smoky smell

makes my nostrils

prickle with nostalgia!

The moist touch unleashes

a flood of memories–

Intense and striking!

I find myself

falling through my memories

backwards in time–

My childhood, my adolescence!

An ache to retreat!!

Ranjana Sharan Sinha is an acclaimed poet, author, academic and retd. professor of English, S.B.City College, Nagpur. She is a well– known voice in Indian Poetry in English with international recognition. Her poems are included in Postgraduate University syllabus, Purnea University and also in the Syllabus of B.A.(Major), RTM Nagpur University. She is a recipient of a number of awards for her contribution to English Poetry including a commendation from the former President of India, A.P.J. Abdul Kalam. Authored and published 10 books in different genres. She is a bilingual poet and writes in Hindi, too.

Email: ranjanasharansinha@ ymail.com