Life Inspires

  is it worth the risk? mantis asks his praying muse let's find out, she says

  she knows not her charm wanders lost in the streets, amid many saviours 

  a school of herring a class of hungry penguins murmuration fades

  threads of spider silk bind walls of tailorbird nests — foxily fragile

that single green leaf on whose diligence, jasmine endures harsh winter

a shooting star burns— its failed quest to reach the Earth still deserves fireworks

  trapped in spindly threads numbed, we surrender our wits to vast World Wide Web

single white stroke against crystal blue sky contrails fading slow  

  I am your past, not the kind that hits you with a blast of wistful nostalgia when you dip the coconut cookie into a sweet sea of chai - your mamma's way, you realise, has become yours now. I don't bring an unexpected smile to you with the memory of a silly antic, a stupid joke. I am not that clown of a friend, the one of whom no one remembers much, except the jokes. I won't cradle you with the memories of a love cherished, though unowned, one that lingered, till it finally faded. And then nothing could bring it back, not even the warmth that being loved so fills you with.  You keep me locked in nested boxes. You know that I am not a threat because pasts can't hurt, at least not in any tangible way. You fear me, yet keep me close and when you feel inadequate, you peek at me with a smug smile. But, I came at a cost. First published on Red Fez  in May 2022

Title: Shimmer Spring: prose and poetry Edited by Kiriti Sengupta ISBN: 9788194853848 Price: INR 2500/- | USD 31.99 Page: 124 Published by Hawakal Publishers (New Delhi | Calcutta) in November 2020 Reviewed by Vibha Malhotra (Review first published on Kitaab.org ) Hope, the entity we desperately try to hold on to in these unusual times of loss and repatriation, is light, some would say. And yet, the light also reveals the desolation and destruction. What is light then? Is it the beacon, or is it the whistleblower? In this context, Shimmer Spring , published by Hawakal Publishers (New Delhi & Calcutta), is an extraordinary collection, embracing both the temperaments of light. This hardbound volume—presented by recognized poet and editor Kiriti Sengupta, designed by Bitan Chakraborty, and embellished with vivid and fluid paintings by Pintu Biswas—is as enticing to the mind as it is to the eyes. In his introduction to Shimmer Spring , Sengupta states, “ light is a com...

When I was a child, I found it lying in the streets abandoned. I picked it up and pampered it. And now like a friend,  through clouds and through mist its genderless voice leads me  to that naïve sapling that has raised its head too soon from the snow and then goes right back in,  enlightened, frightened, and wise beyond its years.  It sighs with me at the wrinkled, entwined hands of lovers when they walk each other  from this street to that, from this shop to that  from this year to that. Holding my hands,  it has taught me to walk on this mystic road  towards  a word  greater than truth. They laugh and they say it’s all in my head. But yet, when I least expect, it talks to me.

In the fabric of time, if there was a tear, I'd enter and emerge the bright-eyed little girl. Her school bag and water bottle slung carelessly on her shoulders bouncing along as she walked, unworriedly behind, while you, her invincible hero, ran your last run to stop the school bus. When your hands were still smooth, the wrinkles yet to come, and your body could still bear the weight of her lying on your stomach. And you told the old stories, told and retold. while she fell asleep there, peaceful, fearless. When you were up, unblinking, the whole night through as she lay in the bed, burning with fever. Now and again you asked “How’s my baby feeling? May be a little better?” You kept your hand on her forehead and though the virus took its time, you’d make it easy to bear. How I wish it was there, this tear in time. I would enter and stitch it up, and holding your hand, go back to the cheery past, the place where you could run once again, with strong and healthy knees; ...

I laugh I cry I accept I lie I am a funny heart That suffers wrongs That keeps peace That breaks into songs I love I hate I envy I care But deep within Where solitude stays I feel no fear I weep for days... Beyond , a photo by Vibha Malhotra on Flickr.