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NAPOWRIMO – Day 5 [Twenty Little Poetry Projects]

…she will be the sunflower a new born girl, in the centre of my brain conceived without a man, yet the touch of affection filled my heart, a feeling like movements of a hundred colossal pendulums the frozen silence in my thinking cerebellum forced me to take a walk through my limbic system, and it took me to a day when Aditi and I were strolling around the ancient walls of Angkor Wat we were laughing, and I said, I love sunflowers sister, they are so alive! I am nothing like her, she is science and I am humanities. In a serious tone she asked, what do you mean alive? The images of silent sunflowers stood in my mind and I wondered what to say: Sunflowers maintain homeostasis or that they pass traits onto the offspring, at that moment my lips whispered to me …she will never be your sunflower! I said aloud, sister I take back my idea of having a granddaughter named Sunflower… she looked away and observed those thousands of years ol
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NAPOWRIMO – Day 4 [an image from a dream]

a poem I dream of a poem again - of words that would drown me in the world of conscious and the subconscious that poem, which I have lost… through the layers of yesterday’s sorrows, a darkness engulfs me, tortures me, lashes me, mocks me, and then it shows me a light I crave for the poem that can liberate me it always have done; yet now while I sit to write, the poem denies its existence… in my dream the poem takes shapes of clouds and float by of water and flows away of dewdrops and silently wait of tiny flowers, of roads, of days, of nights, of birds, of fish, of snails… and then it becomes me, shackled in chains of ashes from the bones of my dear ones is death so powerful that it could kill my voice? Anindita Bose
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NAPOWRIMO – Day 3 [similar-sounding or rhyming words]

“I cannot live without you” a girl's voice caught my attention while I was crossing a busy road I could have left, but I was cleaning my sole which had stepped on a dead toad! Her voice was loud and clear, it pierced through the ears of passers-by hundreds of other middle-class hearts fluttered nearby… those word-waves were circling around an old broken theatre throwing away the corpse, I ordered tea with the artificial sweetener! The boy held her hands in gestures of embarrassment “…but I cannot live without you I wish to see your face each morning,” she said. She pleaded, she cried she scolded, she wanted to die! He looked passed her towards the open road running to and fro and the evening slowly engulfed the momentary show! Quite disappointed, I finished my tea and left it was time to retrospect in depth! For a daily wage earner what can be more fun? Since for us neither is the moon br
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NAPOWRIMO – Day 2 [poem about place/time/space]

Three windows with blue and white-striped curtains, a box-bed with seven cushions and a purple satin bedcover red carnations, book shelves, an old cupboard, some centuries old artifacts – a room in a king’s two hundred years old summer palace a reading table made from the woods of a tree that must had been born in the forests of Ooty the Britishers had left, yet their buildings stand strong all around the corners of the Commercial Street, Charing Cross and all across the Nilgiris. The room has a door that leads to the garden, facing the mountains at a distance pristine mornings, clear blue afternoons, cold mystic nights, kind humans, cheerful children, a white cat and a black dog with croaking frogs and two lost owls perched on some nearby trees the silence of the mountains, and a scared city heart with the fear of the dark a darkness that lingers peacefully as the essence of nature… Sometimes languages differ and humans feel clau
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NAPOWRIMO – Day 1 [Self Portrait Metaphor]

The Me in ME my presence in this world can bring a balance, yet I am no one… once there were powers within humans and today they search for their own selves I keep walking with my energies in a wish to impart the vibrations to my own kind instead I meet shadows... a wish lingers in my soul that I meet the one who will not question my existence but know, why I have come to the soils of earth I am you, you are me, and we are individually - - an alter-ego from centuries old dreams... yet I could transit from the seventh dimension to the twelfth, which have turned the atomic structure of my body into an open space of karmic yoga for I am a medium, a path to reach the inner wisdom Anindita Bose
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NAPOWRIMO – Day 0 [Favorite Bird Prompt]

Old World Flycatcher A station, parallel tracks, announcements, and empty steel chairs flickering lights in the darkness, the night will turn in another day but tonight I revisit that station in Vellore, we were waiting for the journey, the path towards our home. A city, dust, streets, horns, accidents, and us, returning with some leftover hope… everything is fleeting in this human world, everything is flowing towards that eternal call. Amidst such distant emotions of loss tonight I hear another song Ovid’s Philomela let herself free by entangling herself into wings to keep the truth hidden… and this is repeated again and again! Keats’ Ode could not bring back my heart from those corridors where I still stand and witness my mother’s agonies perhaps humanity could have saved her, perhaps a MRI could have saved her. Yet when I think of those warm brown feathers, I hear the echoes of words from a class – “a poet is a nightingale
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Love only on Love Day or All Days ?

Love is a strange dream that floats around us like tiny particles of our own essence. We love and we do not love. We find love and we lose love. We create love and we destroy love. But do we at all think for a while what is love... Nothing, I would simply say it's nothing but a feeling that is born deep inside us the day we were born. The moment our tiny fingers touched Earth's atmosphere we felt love and then we cried, since we felt that this emotion will keep us alive till we tread on this planet. Yet as we grow up the story changes and somehow love becomes an idea. We stretch it the ways we want, and the way people around us want and even make it a game, finally realizing that it cannot be defined the ways we want. Rather it is always present in our core in the purest form. Have you ever tried the honey directly from the bee hive ? What you must have felt is a raw sense and taste. Yes anything pure is wild and raw. So is love. What we try is to tame is and m
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