Summer 2024: Sreelekha Chatterjee

Sreelekha Chatterjee
Bees on a May Day

On an early-summer morning, the pollinators roam,
the reason to swarm is natural
when the flowers luxuriantly proliferate in their brightest bloom.
A cloud of cinnamon bees in a chaotic whirl
engages on a flowering bow uniting all their lovely souls.
Positioning themselves in a heart-shaped form
their labor of love transcends in a hive,
as quiet verdure brightens, resounds with their exultant buzz.
Their aspirations to build a nest so enchanting,
the lust of collecting honey from flowers
has always been rewarding.
Masters of biodiversity are facing a decline—
global warming, deforestation, harming pesticides
are destroying their world in a grumble.
Though the bees never desire the flowers they choose,
we shall aspire and do all to save from their impending doom.

Summer’s Grace

Winds, athorb with heat, blow like an express train—
aimless, incessant—without any platforms to halt,
on a white, glowing summer day,
adorning bedazzling light of the enkindled nature, 
steam hissing over the lea, all green and tender.
Cloudless azure sky beams from above,
hinting inarticulate acquaintance into earth’s environing luster,
bellies of shriveled flowers swollen with promises of fruits.
The entire world lies solemn, absorbed in deep thought,
missing rhythmic birdsong, butterfly’s dance,
boughs on high—laden with élan and goodness—wave gently,
all breathing souls salute the glaring splendor, bow in reverence.

Coveted Breather

Summer afternoon fatigue ensues—
with quietness of shimmering dispositions of aura,
nature swooning in the dazzling sunlight,
engrossed in a reverie of the intense mid-day hour—
like a weary child from day’s activities
wishes to return home to rest.
Hearts burn like the goldsmith’s fire,
from the blazing heat breathing on them,
only to emerge with an invaluable wish of respite.
The sight of a floating white cloud heartens—
all squinting in the glare, faces daubed with golden torture— 
but floats away, disappearing like an unfulfilled desire.

When the Mangoes Ripe

Ripe and juicy, the fruit a king of summer,
tastes both sweet and sour,
like life’s deliveries, both grins and tears;
neutralizes the heat—
a welcome reprieve from the yellowing hotness,
drying emptiness flourishing within. 
Shaped like a drop of jubilance,
the golden gleam of the sun its countenance,
enriches our bodies, soothes our souls,
rules the supreme mango till monsoon fends.
Once I take a fruitful bite,
in the scorching heat’s glamour,
deliciousness rules as the indulgence is divine.
As our weightless bodies absorb the coolness,
knowing all summerly afflictions will be assuaged,
our minds drift in mid-summer’s dreams.

Bio: Sreelekha Chatterjee is a poet from New Delhi, India. Her poems have appeared in Madras Courier, Raw Lit, The Mini Magazine of Assam, Verse-Virtual, The Wise Owl, Ghudsavar Literary Magazine, Orenaug Mountain Poetry Journal, Poetry Catalog, Suburban Witchcraft Magazine, Medusa’s Kitchen, The Literary Times, and Ukiyo Literary Magazine, and in the anthologies—The Harvest & the Reaping, Winter Glimmerings, and Whose Spirits Touch (Orenaug Mountain Publishing, USA) and Christmas-Winter Anthology Volume 4 (Black Bough Poetry, Wales, UK). 
Facebook:, X (formerly Twitter): @sreelekha001, Instagram @sreelekha2023

1 comment :

  1. These are wonderful Sreelekha! I especially like "Coveted Breather" because I can SO relate to yearning a break in the heat of summer.


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