In my mind you are alive,
Playing the lead in my fantasies,
Corroding my senses with outpours of do’mine,
drenching my essence then doing it all over again.

In my mind you are alive,
casually laying claim to each vessel of my being.
Traveling,
Rooting,
Growing,
A fruitless tree you are,
Forever rooted, never sweet.

In my mind you are alive,
Able to contain as many blows sent your way,
Strong, level-headed and calm; so sure.

I am skeptical, pensive and critical; What a perfect match, no?

The crunch of bones,
The smell of blood,
The aching whisper,
Of pain to flood,
My brain complete,
Neurons explode,
The anger rising,
Through veins it flowed.

A lifetime away,
Maybe the next,
I'll have what others,
So easily fetched,
But till that day,
My time is numbered
I'll travel this life,
Unencumbered

Colossal and Colonial stands that bloated aristocratic Mansion...
An abandoned and gloomy Red-brick Victorian, once substantial.
Composed it stood, even in solitary ruins;
A wretched reminder of Savage Time's Doing.
The crumbling, bleeding walls, standing like a ghostly silhouette;
Of previous existence and lost glory,
Now desolate, despondent and in debt.

The long abiding hallways that once reverberated with laughter,
Now laments of Purgatory, of looming disaster.
A Hundred years gone, since footsteps echoed within those halls, and yet...
still not quite empty;
Generations of the oldest residents have laced its walls with cobwebs-
Enticingly delicate, a pale silvery dusty.

Clinging to the shivering wall is an antique Oak Clock;
Once a witness to glorious days, every hour now stands to mock.
The stained glass high windows, stares like the eyes of a melancholy soul;
Like a beautiful, forgotten concubine, Time has taken its toll.

That Old House now just weeps in silence,
Discouraged with age and lonely battle in defiance;
Triggered by acquainted smells and memories galore,
Alas, It holds all that dear, that exists no more!

Tanaya Roy Choudhuri
26 th June 2020

I don't like
the shrill excitement of sirens
warning me of what's to come.
I would prefer
melancholy raindrops
tapping hints into my window from the sun.
I can go without a quick start
with the false hope of an emergency.
Please, just lift me gently
and promise me that there's no urgency
when you wake me for the day.

Life is a bittersweet journey.
No way to predict its outcome,
guided only by the cemented memories of the past.
Everyone leaves there mark on this world,
large, small, wherever it may be.

A warm hand, a soft touch,
the gentle caress of the breeze
as I run fingers through my hair.

Through fire, ice, storms, and grassy plains,
I will keep walking onward,
towards the horizon that calls to me.

The path is steep, there are twists, and turns
and unyielding walls that we must climb to our future
but the view at the top-
it must be beautiful.
It'll all be worth it once I finally reach the peak
of the mountain we call
Life.

I'll get there someday,
but for now,
A day at a time
is all we can achieve.

She drew arrows on paper
Thin lines and angles
Head to hand, table to elbow
A neat triangle