Introduction to the Poet:
Sharmila Roy is a Final Year Masters student of English Literature. She tries to pen down her random thoughts through poems. She believes, in order to live happily one must be at least slightly, aware of the philosophy of life, which is best understood through reading poetry.
Reading and writing poetry provides her with composure and stability. It is the source of peace for her.
A Dream
Enough tears she did shed
Grief swoon the little maid
She is a loner, lonely is her pain
Impregnated with hope
She reared it, nurtured it,
Glitter did her eyes as she bore it
All in vain.
Shivered her thighs,
Water ran down her eyes,
It crashed, destroyed, broke,
Yet not a sound heard
It was Her Dream, her zygote
Who laid dormant forever.
Deceptive God
I call him master though I have not seen him,
I call my master though I never found him
I starve for my master in his worship
Yet he never brought me a morsel
I decked him up in flower
But they always stooped in an hour
I stood in the queue
For a morsel of worshipped food,
The mediators of God raised their eye brow
When I bent to touch the feet of the manly god
The hot sun up my head caused me to sweat
The hounds relaxed their eyes on my cleavage
The food was not even salty as my sweat.
I walked down the my path
Decked in bits and pieced of the un eaten stuffs
The struggling dogs fought for the last bite,
The child’s rib starved for the site
God never heard me, never did I
Never did I see him never did I found him,
I walked down a shabby lane
Clean yet dimly lit and it looked sane.
Many a Goddess stood decked in jewels and flower
Under the sun even under the shower
Even for night long hour.
Rainbows of colours went up and down,
Some had red lips, some had a frown,
Some chewed betel some shook their bangles
In scent or sounds they did entangle
Are they the Goddesses I Worship?
My insane mind question!
They are the indecorous women
Not to be worshipped but
They harbour the ship in war
Not to be loved but to be made love,
Not to be made wife but
A must- have in spite of a wife!
God is never indecorous residing in shabby lane,
I saw him in clean tidy pedestal,
I heard a sound as loud as labour pain
Running down a dingy drain
I found a door half open,
The woman settled her hair,
The man produced a few shillings and note
The tears ran down her throat,
He walked out the door in a flaunting air
The woman ran down to the fair
I followed her until she stopped
Near a pickle shop.
With small pouch in her hand
She walked faster than the air
And reached the end of the lane
The pickles she brought enlightened the face
Of a bed ridden child on the surface
Was it salty than my sweat
Was the name of god engraved
Was it served with flowers and bribe
Or simply as a mean to survive
I know not what magic she did
A sight as imploring as the weed
The answer I did not get
Who was to love and whom to hate
Who was the good who the evil
Which is heaven, and which is hell?
The upraised could not bring smile
With the worshipped bile
The indecorous women lost her all,
To enlighten the little soul.
LOVE LESS LOVE
Erase my memory of you
From my heart, nerves and sinew
Return my time spent with you
Those little walks on the dew
Return my ardent devotion
Motionless rendition,
Of irrepressible love.
Stab the promises that you bestowed
Holding hands under the banyan shadow.
Those nights of cold and thunder
I with you, your limbs asunder,
Those days you barely walked by the stream,
Under the morning beam,
The only shadow other than yours
That walked the glittering stream
Is left abandoned in the abyss
Her acid- burnt face chooses to cease,
Her existence in the societal niche.
