Lost Fairytale

Stars scintillate the city night
Fireflies of memories crowd the city
A solitary soul flutters ceaseless
The penname in nectar’s quest voyages eternally.
Leads whom this glint of hint to the hinterland?
Lost melodies could you hear me back!
The fairy-tales sleuth….
Down to the hues of glistening sunset
Ladies and gentleman with books and fruits -
Cascades of black water flow at the backyard of the lazy canteen.
Few mute mansions, red and white bricks, grassy lanes of flowery wreath
There were warbles of cuckoos and robins.
Songs olden afloat snooping fairytales.
Game of poems amidst fading pages, melting catnap in the mellowing sun
The wobbly cycle, and a fistful of nuts seen by the nagging seagull.
Those sand and dust, hurled by those storms begins to drown into oblivion…
Gold coins divulged in the arrays
Unaware in tranquillity
Rehearses the city in veils :
“Rosy cheeks, lotus eyes, ocean dreams,
Chitters the sparrows in gushing glee.”
The clock ticks, the bell rings
Way to home is bliss
Homes no longer feel like transcending to new morning….

- Smita Chakraborty

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Life - A glass menagerie
Dainty and brittle it was!
It harboured glistening sunrays:
Bright and beautiful.
The prism of sunrays heraled rainbow of dreams,
Scintillating bubble it was !
One fine day, a ray inverted
The glass menagerie attended.
It looked beautiful unison
But oh! A great illusion.
The menagerie is now quaint,
Behold by bleeding hands.
It's an enduring pain only to make wonder
'What if could have been more resilient
Making the collusion a less hurtful'

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WOMEN

People often whisper aloud
‘She’ has nothing to call her own!
Yet I espy all and sundry
Mark those footsteps that she has shown.
Daughter to a father;
She is someone’s wife.
Mother to sons and daughters
Her absence corresponds to sketchy life.
Though wedlock changes her surname;
Her identity thought yet never fades.
She is sometimes that housewife running daily errands,
At other times, she is the divine mother Hera
Protecting her children from going to Hades.
Patriarchy is the society.
Masculine is depicted as better
However man! Recall the fact,
You yourself have born from the womb of a mother.
From dusk to dawn, through her functions the entire society.
From business to politics, to doctors, engineers and teachers
New ‘she’ rules all domains-
She is the star whether as innocent children,
Immature teenagers or dotting lovers.
She is women!
Not someone’s daughter, nor wife, neither sister or mother
She is she without any concealed misogynist support
She has own self and identity,
Refrained from any husband, father or brother.

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A sweet little birdie warbles in the sky;
Alone was she, azure her home was vast.
She had lost some of her friends!
All other birds pity her, none makes friends.
She flew and flew, past a sea of blues.
Then came to a tree of cherry blossom.
Met there she birds of other breeds,
Bonded well with them all-
Friends made many but specially
Bonded with one, the little one
Had never thought would have met.
A good dream it was !
Yes she passed seasons: Summer, Autumn, Winter.
And then came again the spring.
This time she was alone but
She was now a singing nightingale.
But that special bond could not
Sustain the heat and hail
Afterall, Robin and Nightingale cannot sail.
The nightingale now sings in the cherry blossom
The Robin sits in tree other with a Jay.
The nightingale yet sings in the cherry blossom
She sings in dark moonlit nights
Awaiting for some beloved to come
To join her finally in the cloud's brink.

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And then this soul is liberated in the
canon of verity for it acknowledges that
all love roses lesser loves leaves; being
aesthetic is ordinarily but simple is aesthetic.

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The rain descends the sky!
Ataraxy brews in the aura.
None but twitchiness sieges the dark room,
The tears of heaven forebode an unsung angst
A seminal gulf between
What self wants...what self deserves
And what self has attained.
Expectation from life!
The storm both outside the room and inside.
The harmit in illusion. Identity crisis
And needs of life clashes among
The grey coloud transpire too inside.
I read the solutions but couldn't apply
Hurts a lot - these expectations from life.

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HARLOT's TALE

Sparkling blue lotuses
Scintillating wear, they call for you
To lure in the vend of cherries and peaches.
"Harlots" they say, provides sugary pleasure
Wonton or scarlet women known as she
For golden coins and needs basic, she bargains with her figure.
Stories recall her as trader of swive
She is known as home breakers!
But maybe she is suffering in that hive.
No one sees those fountains behind those lotus
None believes that her life has been shattered.
But remember, she is one of us.
It's not always her choice ,
Sometimes its her need for economy, that
She tattered her soul to never voice
Any commontion.
Commotion of greedy men robbing her
For their needs and pleasure fruition.
None remembers that someday, she too
Was someone's mother, sister or daughter
She too was one wife pushed into
The Harlots harem not for pleasure
But to bear the burden of the economy
To give her near ones one time of leisure.

-Smita Chakraborty

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DUALITY

Victorian Duality once upon a time !
Spoke how science and religion dueled .
The duality of life the day
The duel of mind and heart is the say.

The society says listen to heart:
Alas! My heart gave decisions irrational.
Once I built the dam to stop the rills brimming
To only destroy the civilians budding.

The cycle of life : duality and the duel
Mind had to be named the king
Breathes beneath black and white, a cloud grey
Karma is the world's way.

Krsñá worked his work, I mine
Vijaya did help his brother against Rama
Radheya therefore predented friendship
Beneath the flock for resided one grey sheep.

Carasess of love, and gaiety
The mind demands peace.
The duel prevails : who will be the king
The chess game will be over if the root win!

-Smita Chakraborty

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Once upon a time lived that girl !
Smiling and giggling
Does she always, calm and sweet
The Cinderella with all comfort was she.
Cascade of black waters
Surrounded by cashew skin
Her almond eyes heralded dark tears.
Born a two decade ago yet heart of a
One and half a decade bird...
Beneath that smile, she veiled
Thousands of unenunciated voice
Ingrains of pain and unmastered numbness.
She laughed always, her name spelled smile
Yet that smile enshrouded tales of misery.
Misery of near ones,
Misery of having all evenso having none.
Numerous nights she cried alone;
The next morning greeted all with smile.
All saw that smile, none the camouflaged snob
This Cinderella had all to have none.

-Smita Chakraborty

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Days passes but all is the same!
Same old storm that lingers
Conceals the scintillating shore
In the womb of dark delusions.
Delusions of prejudices and pride
Somewhere sometime wins ego,
Nevertheless misunderstandings too triumph.
The ploy had Lizzy and Darcy meet:
All well that ends well.
But the verity here lies just in the opposite shore.
A firefly once was lit in the shore.
Stars and moon too did shine aloof.
But the moon grew too much,
For only the tides to be born.
Today tides washed it all nowhere to be found.
The poet yet keeps reciting his lines
But now highlight is the metamorphosis:
Metamorphosis of hope to despair,
Yet this shore knows only to pine
And the other shore never cared
Alas! Darcy and Lizzy never aligns in real life.

-Smita Chakraborty

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