anusri-mukherjee
Indian
I love simplicity in all forms! / I'm a voracious reader and simply relish the thought of the visual imagery that is created by the power of the word. / I love to write, and everything that touches my life finds its place in my own little world of scribbling. I'm a no jargon person keeping every piece of mine simple and realistic. / I have written coulmns for HT Horizons, an educational supplement of the Hindustan Times; a leading English daily in India. / A regular contributor to the school and college magazine; my poetry has been praised at poetry meets with various countries. The most recent meet being, Poetic Perceptions conducted under the aegis of World Poetry, Canada.
This ain't a poem, its simply a random sketch of my mind's space!
With the rising of the Sun, hopes soar high like kites caught in a gusto of the ever prevalent wind… A moment of happiness brought forth. I don’t know where the darkness plans to interrupt… But a candle I have, and with this I shall light my torch with a hope that the waterfall doesn’t affect it. I walk ahead with a sole proviso to conquer my foe, a ruby in the hilt of my sword and a pearl on my finger. I wish to make peace but the war rages on. Helpless and flightless the dove has fallen onto the bare ****** mud field. Although I wish to caress it I’m on ice that refuses to melt. Suspended on an ailing bridge I try to cross over to the fine green pastures with a beautiful day and an equally wonderful night… Extraordinarily I gaze on the sweet bliss entwining me in a floral band. Never to rise again I fall asleep in the waiting arms of the Omega… I have lived but not lost…
Jul 3, 2011
Jul 3, 2011 at 11:32 AM UTC
Rising Tide.
Fading sunlight.
Ascendin hunger.
Descending tolerance.
I crave; a bowl of soup.
Light.
Darkness.
Blackout.
Carried.
Where?
A prayer answered.
A beg for a bite.
The loss of limb.
So what?
I am filled.
Pain.
Hunger.
Satiated...
I am sold;
ornamented in the devil's almirah...
Jul 3, 2011
Jul 3, 2011 at 11:14 AM UTC
Sitting there in that lighthouse,
trying to fall asleep was he.
His duty time was over and,
now was the time to sleep,
to go on...
But still the fear of fire
torments him,
day and night.
He doesn't dream,
but lives through each nightmare.
The love of his loved ones, faraway,
sheltered from the noisy waves of the sea,
from the salt laden breeze.
His proffession,
had the pleasures,
of being close to the sea;
the pains of separation;and
the nasty accusations of the cruel waters.
But alas he was a poor man.
His bowl of soup was his job.
His wife is ill,
with money and her cure,
he stood atop the intimidating lighthouse.
His children cannot but lick their lips,
at the sight of a sumptous banquet, their ultimate fantasy.
As the evening of his life draws closer,
what can he do, than fall asleep,
when his heart beats no more.
Jul 3, 2011
Jul 3, 2011 at 11:04 AM UTC