All that unfinished business of love…
Like a cardigan, half sewn
Ending in scraggy tendrils of wool
Like a spider’s web, half woven
Ending in broken, hanging gossamer threads
Like an uprooted plant
Ending in muddy rootlets
Like an unfinished song
Ending in half notes
Like an unfinished life
Ending in death
Like all that weight
Ending in a sudden lightness
Like all that meaning
Ending in a silly vagueness
Like a tremendous swell of a wave
Ending in a crash
Like all that precipitate
Ending in a poem.
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Corners
A dark warm corner
Lit only by a single bulb
A corner to recite poetry
Two white walls
A small window that lets in a branch of Gulmohar
A corner to read Ghalib and Meer
A sand dune
A single star shining above
A corner to listen to music
A boat
Lilting, blue waves underneath
A corner to think
Underneath a tree
The fragrance of oranges
A corner to remember
In between two pages
Of Neruda’s memoirs
A corner to heal
On a train
Rice fields rushing past
A corner to make notes
A table of wood
A glass of red wine and two fruits
A corner to be glad
A shared laughter
Two pairs of eyes, one blue gray, one green
A corner to hold hands
Under a white quilt
A soft white pillow
A corner to shed tears
An armrest
A small hand on a soft cheek
A corner to dream
In your arms
Sound of heartbeats
A corner to melt
A house in the hills
Fearless purple skies
A corner to love
In between two thoughts
One sad, one hopeful
A corner to live.
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Two poets
It’s so lonely, writing a poem
Even lonelier to read poems of others
Its one thing to hear the pangs of one’s own heart
Quite another to fathom another’s
My looking out of the window at the gulmohar might be a complex
Mish mash of happy-sad-nostalgic longings
But this other gaze…at the dead tree outside her window
Seems infinitely more sadder
Sometimes I wish I could hold that hand
Secure it inside the warm folds of my own – although
They are quite tiny themselves
Perhaps, two poets could then look out of the window together
And write a happier song, of colourful hummingbirds
Fluttering their wings…
Mukulita Ganguly
Absolutely loved the poem named “Corners”. Could vividly imagine and feel each and every word. Bissfully swathed by corners close to the heart.