The Whims of a Little Mind

It's beautiful, like the air blanketing insouciant cacophony of the city. Telephone wires swirling down the sunlit walls and ravens scaling the heavenward cobalt canvases, I peer out through the paint stained glass windows and see a little girl scolding the disobedient gray wall as a quizzical pigeon watches by. I look at her soiled locks ignorantly held into a pink headband, her clothes muddy and brown from the day's exhaustion and I realize how delicious innocence is, how flawless like the aztec patterns of the railings tinted on the gray terrace floor under twilight at dusk.

What a pity that life, eventually, drains all of it like a book of poetry put under running water...

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'Shree'-rendipity

Most people that I have met in life have found my name intriguing, enigmatic or colloquially what you call a 'jaw-breaker'. Therefore, much to my dissent, my name got conveniently shortened to 'Shreya' or 'Shrey'. It irked me majorly because 'Shreya' is also a different name within the Bengali culture. It felt like an imposition of a person or personality that I were not. Over a period of time overstimulation forced me to accept the fait accompli until, a friend started using the word 'Shree' to address me affectionately. Intuitively, effortlessly and organically I felt like my personality fell in perfect symphony with being called 'Shree', so much so that, subconsciously, I also had started to address myself as 'Shree' soon afterwards. Needless to say, the shift in cultural paradigm as I immigrated from India to USA was vast and diverse. Surprisingly however, it made me cling on desperately to the vestiges of my roots and identi...

Inferno

It's only now that I realise, Decades of mourning will cease no cries. Love and disaster sewn in one, The eternal inferno I was destined to burn. Damaged was I, maybe a little more now Revived regrets into piles, and how! Like dead petunias on the sea afloat, Like blandness of a solitary piano note, I fell apart from the world to endure, The burden of a soul, impure.

The Great Fig Tree

It's only in these wee hours of the night,when the city rests. It's only when the nights are so horrifying that I can no more convince myself to persevere. I am a happy woman otherwise. It's rare that you don't find me break out into fits of laughter at mundane jokes and grope my aching belly soon after I am like that great fig tree with the vibrant aura of victory against autumn. So fresh and lively. The tree who has submitted her life to the virtue of kindness.That who apparently knows of nothing but joy. It's baffling how never ever could a living being fathom what demons she hides between layers of skin that accumulate to harden into the bark over the years of struggle between life and death. The tree that has faced all the winds slash through her soul up till this moment. But the thought of storms scare her now. She is all but happy. A plethora of melancholic clouds have drenched her to the skin over time. You say, "Too bad. Sorrow will dilapidate he...

Whispers To The Oblivion ...

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