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| 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
from
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
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
from
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, A STONE…?
She turned to stone
Of late she had been
gradually
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
own
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
severing
the pronged tongue of the leash
brutalised
it lay at her feet
While she danced
on the broken shards
bleeding
picking up the reflected
Lightnings
Illuminating her way
through the storm
She owned her own
sky with a singular sun
Dazzling
Empowered
Emancipated
A tree shorn of leaves
standing erect with the
bare minimum
The crumbling broken
structure
that she had taken pains
to erect
lay in ruins
devastated she was
yet
free from shackles
the bindings
all the paraphernalia
that impeded
She became her own force
A power grid of inexhaustible
dynamism
collecting broken jagged
pieces to make a
beautiful collage
a mosaic of coloured theme
of rhyme and ream .
She turned to stone
Of late she had been
gradually
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
own
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
severing
the pronged tongue of the leash
brutalised
it lay at her feet
While she danced
on the broken shards
bleeding
picking up the reflected
Lightnings
Illuminating her way
through the storm
She owned her own
sky with a singular sun
Dazzling
Empowered
Emancipated
A tree shorn of leaves
standing erect with the
bare minimum
The crumbling broken
structure
that she had taken pains
to erect
lay in ruins
devastated she was
yet
free from shackles
the bindings
all the paraphernalia
that impeded
She became her own force
A power grid of inexhaustible
dynamism
collecting broken jagged
pieces to make a
beautiful collage
a mosaic of coloured theme
of rhyme and ream .
PASSAGE OF TIME
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
Antiquated
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
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
Antiquated
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
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