[ultimate_heading main_heading=”Poems by Mitalee Dabral – Issue.XXXII : September 2017 ” main_heading_color=”#1e73be” sub_heading_color=”#8224e3″ spacer=”line_with_icon” spacer_position=”bottom” line_style=”dotted” line_height=”1″ line_color=”#1e73be” icon_type=”custom” icon_img=”id^48|url^http://ashvamegh.net/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Ashvamegh-ICO.jpg|caption^null|alt^Ashvamegh Journal Icon|title^Ashvamegh ICO|description^null” img_width=”48″ main_heading_style=”font-weight:bold;” main_heading_font_size=”desktop:34px;” line_width=”3″ margin_design_tab_text=””]connecting the dots…[/ultimate_heading]

Mitalee Dabral is an HR professional, a post graduate in Personnel Management & Industrial Relations & a graduate in English Literature. She is an avid reader of fiction, loves poetry, yoga, animals and nature. She occasionally dabbles in writing poems and her musings are inspired by life, love, relationships and nature.


Storm in a tea cup

Sometimes I walk back, down that cobbled path on the hills,
Where mist rose to kiss the deodars,
Stillness dissolved itself without a sound,
And our laugh lines turned deeper than tree lines,
In the chilly mountain breeze.
I stop by our favorite roadside café,
Open the lid of a tea box,
Full of myriad herbs known,
To relieve the pain of remembering.
Repeatedly dipping and blaming the teabags,
For a weak and timid brew,
I realize,
The water in the cup has long turned tepid,
As I sit there alone, simmering with memories…



Forbidden Places


I find our memories, in my restless moments,

Like a corn thread stuck in the teeth,

Mocking the tongue in a game of hide and seek,

Do you find them easily too?

Or do you have to go to one of those forbidden places,

Crossing the bridge of time.

Perhaps they never became,

More than a mole on your skin.


Cloth pegs 


Do you remember?

When, I was picking up seashells from the beach,

As we walked together barefoot

Looking at the ruby glow of sunset,

The receding waves kissing our feet…

You strode a few steps ahead,

Spotting a flawlessly shaped cockle

Picked it up and put it in my hand,

Adding a touch of perfection,

To my collection and to my memories…

That warm thought still hangs somewhere,

Fluttering in the sea breeze…

Thank you for putting cloth pegs,

On our moments of togetherness.

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