Poetry: Debjani Mukherjee

Debjani Mukherjee

Who am I?

The gut-wrenching question
Kept the soul restless at nights
She searched for her identity
In the shadows, for years
Begging to be noticed
from the grave of dreams
Eyes blinded with hopeless murk
She wandered from heart to heart
From trees to insects
From sky to river
From mountains to the ocean
From fiddling violin to rumbling thunder
Echoing the question to the oblivion
Like a haunted ghost
Like a nymphs of heaven
Like a broken bird hiding beneath its wings

Until one day

When the grave ruptured
And the dreams got unleashed again
Standing on her grave
She opened her arms
And silver wings got illustrated
On her weathered skin
And the divine light,
 spread from her crux
Flooded the universe
With the tenor of her soul
The symphony allured
Every single ear on the planet
She smiled in ecstasy
And waved her silver wings
To touch the moon and beyond
As she now know what a magnificent
Creation she is of the creator.

A deranged mind

Waves belabor the walls of the heart
Sinking it deep into the sand
Serenity waved goodbye years ago
Now it is just a grapple to breath
Faces known and unknown
Prowls round the bed all night
Slowly the creepy weaves enter my blanket
and crawl into my blood
A cold puff ripples down my spine
and I shiver, in absolute fright.
A door locked forever
Smothers my memories to death
I gulp lumps down my throat
Spilling my emotions through eyes
My heart races against the clock,
tick tock tick tock
And even the reminiscences of gaiety dies
They call me insane, even gave a certificate of so
I now look out of the window,
Holding the railings by my bed
One face in particular often visits the mind
The one used to say "will love you till death."
Never saw that face in the visitor's room
The question echoes in the mind, “who was that face?”
Who used to say "will love you till death"!!!!
"Will Love you till death"!!

Fake Jewel

We women are fond of jewelry
Ruby, emerald, sapphire, diamond
We allure ourselves with sparkling stones
The shine, the glitter, dazzle our eyes
And the desire of ornamenting ourselves
Emerges a shivering happiness within us.

We love to embellish our body
With the array of these beautiful stones
And pay everything we have
To make one of them our own

But often the goldsmith cheats us
Rendering a fake rather than real
And we stupid women often keep
Those fake stones
Within the closet of our heart
Yes mere stones, never a jewel for real
Enclosed in our chest with love

With time those stones lose their glitter
Their charm of alluring our heart

And then we stupid women sit in the courtyard
With open hair and shed tears in moaning
Moaning the loss of stones
The loss of our dear fake love.

Setu, September 2018