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Feb 2018
When at this seemingly great crossroads I stand
Searching for a martyr to bare his splendid hand,
I devolve and degenerate into
The unspeakable horrors of my mental dynamo.
The unsuspecting spills and splatters
Devour that cone of momentous light,
Butchering all the words that matter,
Fleeting soldiers too broken for a fight.

I saw you yesterday,
Epitome of peace,
Eradicator of dismay,
My inner eye, my soul,
Filled to the brim with condole
You have revealed to me the Universe in Verse.
Darling, don’t call yourself a loathsome *****,
You’re the divine medium that enables
God and I to converse.

It’s been a while since,
My sanity has returned and
Its absence
Irrigates the dusty landscapes of the dark.
The ebb, the tide, the seawall stark
Look fertile enough to dissolve away,
All our nubile tears and allay,
What the telephone or the text message
Couldn’t say.

When sleep crept under my skin,
Like a poison numbing our love with a grin,
Bereaved of my lover I lay defeated.
A solitary portrayal, bared yet conceited.
The evening had caused us to erupt,
Into a familiar wrath, abrupt.


Your poetry was a magnificent, glorious attempt,
To conciliate the dissent,
And ameliorate the contempt.
In me you will find
Mother, daughter, child and mistress,
A juvenile delinquent,
An occasional temptress.
In all these disguises, all these identities,
You will never discover the fragilities,
Of a heart broken by
You.

Forgiveness is what you sell to the demure
For a will to live and the courage to endure.
It wasn’t a cone of light,
You see,
But a shadowy star concealing its might.
In the dark room that had filled my mouth,
You ushered like a beacon from the south,
Resplendent in the innocent purity of existence,
You stripped me of my need for defense,
The morning saw nothing but joy and peace.
Your lovely face, and
My eyes appeased.
Fights with Bae : He gets mad. I get mad. Then he writes a poem for me.
Arpita Banerjee
Written by
Arpita Banerjee  New Delhi
(New Delhi)   
  387
   Aayan Kumar, Carina and Rick
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