Three Poems

Sampreeti Bhattacharya

Sampreeti Bhattacharya: I am a theoretical chemist by profession. I am presently a graduate student and writing poetries is one of my coveted hobbies. I am an Indian, from Kolkata, West Bengal, and I must say one of the greatest insight for literature is inspired from the place I love the most, my city Kolkata.

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Blanket

Churches after churches, sins after sins
Timid are the voices of the pure, louder are those that aren't clean.
Rolling on the gilded floor they were blinded by the superfluous galore, the war was yet to come to challenge the spirit and the valor.

Cried every soul on the porch, on the soil of every religion
Where is thy god thy Messiah thy legion?

Words spread to every speck of dust, to the most entangled in the smog
This errand was tough, the water wouldn’t find its way out of the clog.

Simple are those parts of human, which lose hope unanimously, yet towering heartaches of the most painful fashion.
They say it's hard, they never had been bidders in death's auction.
 From Tuscany sunset to the red flags,
 all the way to Grand Canyon over the mightiest statue,
there are the whispers of the Curfew.

 Some were believing in the differences, some were losing their world while some were smirking as it is just a few.
 Nobody knows what everyone is thinking, innumerable thoughts or may be nothing at all.
 Nobody knows about the worth of being worthy or of how big or how small.
 The normalcy is a Soma way to the Utopia, seems like life after death,
 The life has shown different colors of hopelessness amidst love and hate.
***


Do not keep a place besides, 
For I do not want to stay,
I want to hide.
I would rather be happy and sway into the bizarre colors of fall am sorry.
I cannot stand here alone, I cannot stand tall. There are more fallen crowns than leaves,
And even more hearts that bleed.
Will they not abandon me more?
Or will there be someone who will soothe my sore?
The wind that makes me hollow, with abrasive gust of jet.
Will I be able to let it through, even when there is nothing left?
Will my heart not ache, for the souls which were an unaffordable stake?
Will I be able to find again?
How wonderful is the Sun and the rain?
There will be voices down the road,
And I will hear them as they call.
But will I not rise again and forget being forgotten like the leaves in this fall!
***


Letters

Like the letters they float in the air.
Some would fall into puddles, blotting the ink and then slowly erasing.
Some would catch fire and obliviate into nothingness.
My fleeting affection, my fleeting devotion.
My hands, my knees, my speechless lips.
Like the letters they float in the air,
The ashes for no one to see.
Only blurring eyes, over and over again;
But sometimes in my dreams.
Like the letters they float in the air, not for you to remember.

Setu, May 2020