Have all the instigations of my heart issues
dawned insinuations of my used tissues,
Or am I the one to blame?
Can I trust a mind that never stays the same?
How are there no answers,
in the windows of your eyes?
Why aren’t my instincts strong enough to overcome these lies
I make up in my mind,
the ones that bring peace,
but only for a time in between my insanity?
For the very next moment I’m wise enough, I wish I was always wise enough, to come back to reality.

We're a bunch of heartbroken lovers,
eager to stitch back together
the strands of our reality.
Always hesitant to take the first step,
we simply trust anyone who takes the step for us,
because we are broken enough to be wiser,
but not wise enough to stop trying.

She is like fire,
She burns everything on her way.
Without any hesitation or delay.

She is like fire,
A free-spirit who knows no bound.
Her feet just won't stay on the ground.

She is like fire,
You can see it in her eyes.
She can be both childish and wise.

She is like fire,
Her desire is to touch the sky.
All she wants is to fly.

She is like fire,
She travels to soothe her soul.
While, I admire her from afar and grow old.









Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved

Stories browsed by the bedside of budding of children
Told of all the adventure that awaited us
So I ran amok with my compatriots
Every one of us wreathed in youth
Burning with the boundless fuel
Of curiosity
From the streets spilled opportunities
Of Fame, Of Wealth, Of Love
Then eventually the Sun rays Bent
Before bleeding upon the stone
So that we traversed on bricks of yellow
Until sore legs led us
To an enchanted emerald mirror
And as we stared we began to wheeze
Seeing a frail old wizard or witch
Wondering “why” with a whimper
As curtains cradling clocks, crash upon us

She's always been like a tree,
Rooted and strong.
The resemblance
Only grew with her age.
The wrinkles of her face-
Hard and intricate bark;
And her wisdom reaching-
Branches offering shade

The wise woman bends a broken knee
Her ewer goes deep into the clear river
A shiver
From the cold fingertips to the snow of her hair
All tangled with voices and
  swallowed bits of oceans and
   muffled out cracks and
    internal bruising and
     the light that they give off
      the dreadlocks she will never part with.

She approaches the crowd that watches
Someone bathe in the cold waters.
She fills which cups are still upright
Nods at a ‘thank you’ or two
And wipes a tired eye
  as she fills her own with wine.
   Water’s to drink
     And youth is to behold.