jagari-mukherjee
Indian
Hi! Poetry is my passion and I like to read and write poems to indulge my passion. It is my very breath. I don't know whether I have talent or not, but I have no doubt that the fire of love for literature quickens through my veins. / I work weekdays at an MNC, and on weekends, drown myself in the wine of the winged word. I sometimes write under the pen name Mahtab Nega on another website. / I hope to find and communicate with like-minded people whose hearts beat for beautiful verses.
I regret holding hands
Of those who could not be mine :
Only to desert them and be deserted in the middle of nowhere.
And when I found you, I did not want to desert and be deserted again.
Regret feels like a landslide
Loosening stones from strong, solid mountains --
I do not want to feel it with you.
I want our seasons to be as pure as a crystal waterfall;
No terror of storms or landslides should haunt me.
The stormy seas of the Past made up of my tears
And the tears of others deserted : let them recede
As I walk on the golden shores of the Present with you.
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 2:44 PM UTC
The flavor of lemons is bitter -
That’s why I don’t need the mints;
I locked away your blue sweater
With the lint still on the pillow.
I looked into the sea and saw the stars
Saltier than the tears and the lemon ****
We shared in the tearoom on that last Sunday –
There is a dry blue rose in the closet all pressed and crumbling.
Blind agony stumbles in frustration; your presents are my poison -
Now the porcelain needs dusting, the Valentines are jumbling.
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 2:32 PM UTC
I may not have the glamorous sheen,
The moves, the grooves of sweet sixteen,
I get angry soon and am suspiciously keen –
But I’m your Is, Will Be and Has-Been
So don’t send me away honey,
For I’m your crazy, wayward queen.
I fight with you and punch your nose,
Of my short temper you get overdose,
Just smile at other girls – you’ll know what I mean,
But don’t send me away honey –
I’m your crazy, wayward queen.
So what if in our last quarrel I pulled your hair?
When you walk, I worship the surrounding air;
You my soul, you’re tall and lean,
The one that I dreamt of as a lonely teen,
You’re my love and my war and everything in-between;
Don’t send me away honey,
For I’m your crazy, wayward queen.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 12:34 PM UTC
The violin strings
Turned my fingers red…
Your music was a storm
on a flower bed.
I am
the slave of your seasons –
Are you my spring?
Am I blue and bold?
Are my snows melting?
Touch away my blues
To sweeter greens,
Let your soft summers
Drench my winter scenes.
In my battered soil
Is your flower bed –
For balms and herbs
I you raid.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 12:22 PM UTC
Softly, the night passed without your voice:
The stars were drunk on the blue wine air
And lay like a Greek princess on a veil.
The moon was shimmering with a cool perfume,
The beach was scented with cold clear salt.
I reached out my hand to touch you
Although I know you were not there.
I held your pillow to me soaked with hot tears –
Softly, the night passed without your voice in my ear.
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 2:57 PM UTC
This, my love, is the city of sin,
This is where I am captured in.
Come, take my hand and walk with me.
Here’s the veil I use for other’s eyes,
So none should think me sinful and surmise
That I am the denizen of the darkest sea.
A white veil to cover a soul of blame?
You look at me and ask for my real name.
Which of Satan’s conquests may I be?
There’s my home: that’s a vanishing spire
My years burn in smoke and pyre
You wish to rescue but there’s no key.
To save me, that’s your sole desire?
Are you the moon to which I aspire?
Come, leave my hand and you are free.
Why do you not listen to me?
You wish to rescue, but is there a key?
For I am the denizen of the darkest sea.
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 2:50 PM UTC