Aayushee Garg was born in Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh, India, in 1991. She is currently studying MA in English with Communication Studies at Christ University, Bengaluru. She has previously worked at Tata Consultancy Services as a Software Engineer. She has also been a teacher of Computer Science and Mathematics at a school in Lucknow. She is deeply interested in literature and philosophy. She loves reading, singing and photography. She feels grateful to be gifted with the ability to write poems. She also has a penchant for translation.
- HOME
Unfamiliar traces
Of familiar faces
Drooping sky
Humbling trees
Fragrant sunlight
A room carved out of rose bushes
Jasmine floods
A shy breeze rushing
Into and out of the attic
Weary eyelids
Sweet yoghurt
Colourless water
Home
- MONOCHROME
I talk.
I speak to the black and white Moon.
The coloured Sky becomes my witness.
The Sun interrupts.
The Wind starts to sing.
The Tree dances to their melody.
Synchronising,
They don’t let me talk.
I talk.
I speak to the Monochrome Moon.
The deep Sky becomes my witness.
White Clouds run away to play.
The Wind laughs in delight.
The Tree begins to listen.
Synchronising,
They don’t let me talk.
I talk.
I speak to the black and white Moon.
- MYSTICAL GARDENS
I kept searching
Looking
Hither and thither
For gold
And rubies
And diamonds
Hungry
Greedy
Angry
To eat and be eaten
To fill desire to full.
I kept searching
Looking
Hither and thither
For vengeance
And its saturation
Gasping
Blind
Wealthy
Prosperous
Envious
Lethal.
I kept searching
Looking
Hither and thither
For truth and its sanity
Running
Chasing
Following footsteps
But my thoughts and emotions
Finally broke away
From chains
Of immorality
And immortality
Into myriad bees
Of angels and demons
Of colourless imageries of conceit
Of essential futility.
Pausing
I saw that
Truth never demanded
To be searched for.
Truth lied within.
The soul was its abode
Body its distant neighbour
And mind
A controversial mediator
That conjured
And conspired
Flowers and weeds
In those
Mystical Gardens
Of heaven
And of hell.
- HOMECOMING
Reckoning trivial tranquillity
Sitting in the secure lap of my distant home
That once was not too far
But I made it so
I patiently drink tea to the lees.
Souvenirs of
Inhospitable homeliness of hostility
And the perilous homesickness for Paradise
Coalescing into a spicy tulsi ambrosia
That tastes sweeter than honey
Has fragrance tastier than roses.
But,
It doesn’t burn my throat.
For the mind chained by the soul
This is another periphery
On my way
On the lookout
For no horizon.
Tea mugs asked my books all this while
When is she going to pour water into us again?
Cleansing soothing running translucent water
That stays in the vessel only until she gulps it down
Nevertheless our sole redeemer.
Is she waiting for the wind again?