Sudeshna Mukherjee, INDIA

Sudeshna Mukherjee

The mirror had collected 
thick layers of dust 
The images reflected were nothing 
but a distorted blur
a light visible 
through a thick fog 

Would she dare to look 
at the sullied mirror 
Her pallu slipped 
She watched entranced 
turning sideways 

the mirror mirrored 
the blotches 
the haematoma 
the abrasions 
the contusions

The weals donned many colours 
throbbing red 
to purple 
to sickly green 
to chocolate brown 
cracking open 
filled with horror 

Her face a mirror 
of impassivity 
Her mind a windmill
desperate for a way out

She lifted her pallu 
back in position 
in the process 
dusting off a streak of dust 
curved rainbow like 
Surely and silently she 
held her head high

She had to move 
traipse like a Prima Donna 
Revolving and rotating 
around resolutions 
not whirring like a static fan 

The mirror would continue 
to gather dust 
while time would slink 
away in the satin lined
pockets of drudgery 

Tying her saree tightly 
around her slim waist 
she began by dusting 
the edges. She had to 
extend herself to reach 
the corners. Stretching 
her painful self .

Gradually the mirror 
began to shine 
Silvered over 
the tarnish; dulling 
The dust slipping off
without much protest 

Life once more 
rose awakening 
a desire 

The mirror now bright 
smiled back at her 
The glowworm within 
iridescent with light 
and life took wings 
delicately fluttering 
unsure but steady 
flitting across 
sunshine hours of 
decisive reining in 


She turned to stone 
Of late she had been 
becoming stony 
Hard resolute immovable 
Letting nothing affect her 
Feeling nothing 
It was a ploy 
to stave off pain

Once her heart beat 
with softness 
with compassion 
with empathy 

She bled 
often through 
no fault of her 

Slowly she started
turned to stone 
Hard but solid
Yet she was no Ahalya 
She clawed her way back 
to claim that which was 
rightfully her own .

She created a storm 
of her own 
while she stood facing one
Thundering with a cleave 
the pronged tongue of the leash 
it lay at her feet 
While she danced
on the broken shards 
picking up the reflected 
Illuminating her way 
through the storm 

She owned her own 
sky with a singular sun 

A tree shorn of leaves 
standing erect with the 
bare minimum 
The crumbling broken 
that she had taken pains 
to erect
lay in ruins 
devastated she was 
free from shackles 
the bindings 
all the paraphernalia 
that impeded 

She became her own force 
A power grid of inexhaustible 
collecting broken jagged 
pieces to make a 
beautiful collage 
a mosaic of coloured theme 
of rhyme and ream .


The empty room looked lost 
Searching for its quiet inhabitant
A small dark room 
In the extreme left 
Left from the hubbub 

She was relegated there 
As she silvered 
An existence of 
piety spent pouring 
over holy books 
counting the Tulsi beads 

The hollowed cheeks had 
once made the roses blush 
The wizened existence had 
resisted many a young storm
The bulwark of domestic activities 
the doyen of a karma-yogi 

When time crept up unaware 
her frailties magnified 
Fresh blood took over 
while she receded 
She became the Yamuna 
sister of death
Flowing sluggishly through 
life's stream
Clogged and mired 

She was no more a part 
of the centre stage 
She did not want to 
wait in the wings 
A queen over her domain 
She retired to her room 

Evicted adroitly to the quieter 
section for her own good 
They failed to see her wry smile 
As she looked at the lines of her palm 
They cut across like rivers 
on mother earth 

Once verdant now dammed 
She stilled the waters
as they rose in waves
Wisdom was in the waters 
as they found their own level 

She waited 
Her wait waited on her 
At last unheralded came the hour 
When it showered white flowers
Mogra jasmine and champa 
Fragrant in the stillness 
Night lay beside her 

The dawn waited for her 
The day listened for her 
The dusk dripped dew 
The night embraced her 
Comforting in the velvety blanket

Sudeshna Mukherjee's poetry deals often with varied human nature. A keen observer, she chronicles the happenings around her and society. ‘Meanderings of the Mind’ is her published book of poems.

1 comment :

  1. Εu não abster-ѕe de comentando. Perfeitamente escrito!


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