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| Sreelekha Chatterjee |
Eyes Know It All
My eyes are those ever-attentive audience
in a theatre hall where
my other four senses on the center stage
are busy materializing their thespian ambitions.
in a theatre hall where
my other four senses on the center stage
are busy materializing their thespian ambitions.
My black orbs are my globe—
views occasionally as free as
we have been in childhood,
momentarily restricted
at times by the torment of belief and unbelief
as if in a prison call between my incarcerated mind
and an approved outside realm.
My “seek pleasure, avoid pain” tenet prevails interminably,
which I cannot catch as it is a burning fire,
while unknowingly, my curtains move from white to black.
When I gaze inward,
my heart quivers, tongue collapses, nose relents diagnosis,
whining whistle drums at my hearing, horripilation tingles,
bristles my skin hair like a bird raises its hackles.
I am the deeper-eyed, I believe the shine of the universe,
but darkness often rides my beleaguered world—
a torturous path of unforeseeable deaths,
pandemics, floods and drought, warming Earth’s insecurity.
A dust-laden whirlwind of love and desire
turns my world grime-faced, shutting my eyelids.
Shimmering optical pools absorb and reflect all the light;
my internal pupa metamorphoses into a butterfly,
breaks open the chrysalis but hardly flies,
as the wings never dry and strengthen.
My own laws trammel my rights,
as I remain confined in sleep’s repository.
views occasionally as free as
we have been in childhood,
momentarily restricted
at times by the torment of belief and unbelief
as if in a prison call between my incarcerated mind
and an approved outside realm.
My “seek pleasure, avoid pain” tenet prevails interminably,
which I cannot catch as it is a burning fire,
while unknowingly, my curtains move from white to black.
When I gaze inward,
my heart quivers, tongue collapses, nose relents diagnosis,
whining whistle drums at my hearing, horripilation tingles,
bristles my skin hair like a bird raises its hackles.
I am the deeper-eyed, I believe the shine of the universe,
but darkness often rides my beleaguered world—
a torturous path of unforeseeable deaths,
pandemics, floods and drought, warming Earth’s insecurity.
A dust-laden whirlwind of love and desire
turns my world grime-faced, shutting my eyelids.
Shimmering optical pools absorb and reflect all the light;
my internal pupa metamorphoses into a butterfly,
breaks open the chrysalis but hardly flies,
as the wings never dry and strengthen.
My own laws trammel my rights,
as I remain confined in sleep’s repository.
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