Panorama

How does love feels when you cannot feel, The brush of the fingers , the warmth of the hug, The kiss on the lips or hands in your hair. Love still exists , but in a form we shape it- From the pebbles of fragmented memories, Cemented by the images in our imagination,   Or the wavering pixels brought together behind our mobile screens. Love seems then to be perceived as we weave   In our dreams, for reality is a meeting,   That spans over eons of waiting . But then isn’t reality itself a perception, For even if one is standing right in front, For all the hours of the day, the days of the week- Still we see nothing but a reflection- Of the light we allow to seep in or not. Then how does one measure love in terms of distance, As distance itself is virtual-   if it is of the heart or the self. For the physical interval we can see, but what of hearts apart   Even if standing on the same shaft. Love, is thus abstract,   Free and beyond all the boundaries of the bo...

 October they say is not a season, but a feeling. It may mean different to different souls. For me, October resonates with the advent of Durga Puja, the sense of festivity in the air, a slight nip in the breeze and the fragrance of ‘sewali’ in the night air. It is to this day, whenever I encounter the sweet smell of ‘sewali’ , it takes me on a nostalgic ride to the “sewali”tree blooming in the frontyard of my home in my little town - the innumerable pandal hopping, 90’s bollywood songs blazing on the loudspeakers, the continuous clanking of horns and plastic trumpet, and people making their way amidst the chaos and crowd,  decked up in their best attire- pretty maidens, howling kids, colourful stalls and honking cars, all somehow created a melange of sorts that still vividly paints a picture in my mind, as I hear and feel “ OCTOBER”. But “ October “ also reminds me of a movie I once saw with the same name, that cast a spell so deep, that you tend to redefine love or the feelin...

You call me a Maa(mother), beti (daughter) and even Devi, You place me on a pedestal and worship me ,   And yet you strangle me. Sometimes as I walk down the road, Your piercing stare tears me , As if you could see right through my clothes,   And seek what is within it. Or as I travel in the public bus,   In the midst of rush, Your let your body brush, Against me, to intimidate my senses   Or to harass me. In the crowded fair or the deserted lane , In the midday sun or the darkest night- You never leave me alone, A sneer, a grope, a remark or a stalk- And my fear and inhibitions - Are my constant companions when alone I walk. My mind races.. is there anything wrong I have done or worn ? And still I fail to see reasons, For you deeds and misdeeds, As to what sin an infant could do , Who was killed the instant she was born ? Or to what wrong could a 5 year old wear That seems to justify your barbaric act. And the times you mutilate the face of a young girl, What though...

  SILHOUETTE Long shadows and reflections   Of the being or his mind ? Lurking in the darkness of the dark, Only a flicker of light . Shapes entwined, a mass of black. Unfathomable, unrecognisable, From where it crept. Layers beneath of muddled thoughts, Of erased lines and distorted forms. It swells , it expands, Till it consumes all. The ray fails to pervade, For it evades, All rational, all light . It lingers, casting its spell, On the ground   On the mind, And the entirety that remains. It sways, it lays, and treads along, The silhouette of the self or the soul ! -Devyashree Dutta

Symphony “ Trinnnng, beep., honk.. creak..” And the cacophony rings, Of voices and noises, Of cluttered thoughts and phrases. And then there is a lullaby   Of the mother singing when the babies cry. A sense of soothe and calm behold. The song of the cricket and the dance of the moon, Stealing in glances in the darkness of the room. And as the night falls and silence crawls, W eaving its magic and the symphony unfolds.

Of late, I have been reading and watching a lot on the Holocaust during WWII, and the images of the young children being paraded off to the detention/ extermination camps somehow have left a deep impact on me. The fear ,the paranoia they went through must have been unimaginable, of young dreams being shattered forever for no fault of theirs, of knowing that they might be killed, and still daring to breathe. I decided once to think how they must have felt, and penned down some lines as a 15 year old child during the brutal genocide of the Jews by the Nazis, pulled apart from family and friends. Do you remember when you were fifteen? What did your eyes hold? Maybe dreams of love, romance and prosperity - Of aspirations and hopes writ large. But do you know, what I see, I see an impending doom.   My eyes, if you look into them are filled with grim. For I see death, ghastly and brutal. I count my days , striking them off one by one, For I do not know what m...

The love we felt…. Words that flow, but fail to bind, Come together and make a rhyme. They lie scattered and sundry, And I try- To weave a bouquet of thoughts Of poetry and prose. Akin to the emotions that flow, Of affection and passion,   Of care and compassion, That unspoken truth writ large on your eyes, Of the unsaid promise sealed on my lips. It lies astray ; Like the pages of an unfinished novel- The love we felt, and never we shared, The dreams we saw, but never we dared.

Would you cry if I die? Would you cry if I die? Or you shall pass by, When you see my name printed wide In the obituary of the daily that you buy. Would you think of the times that we spent- Hand in hand, wide awake, under the starry sky; The promises that we made , the dreams that we wove, The stories galore or shall you shove? Each memory down a gutter ,   Like instances never to utter. When the flowers bloom and spring arrives, Would you think of our long drives? Of the 90’s music blazing high,   And the wind making my hair fly. Or when the first drops of rain kisses the earth, Would we think of the times we snuggled in your hearth? And as the autumn comes and the last leaf falls apart   Would you think of the time when we had to part? Would that bring a smile or tear your heart, For the times we shared , never to depart. Would the nostalgia still be bright , Of all the days and night, Or you shall erase the pages And all the images- Like reminiscences that are nev...

Do you feel it, the sense of fear that lurks around? It almost chokes you and engulfs you in its grip, Like dark clouds glooming in the horizon. The paranoia is real, and universal- While the heart shattering images shake you to the core. There is a grief, a sense of melancholy in the air, And yet more than the virus it is the fear. The uncertainty of our being and the realisation- Of how brittle our existence is in the realm. We claimed to be invincible and yet,   To a microorganism, now we bow. And then somehow you realise the boundaries that you created Are all fragile-all faded into oblivion now. Where are the lines of religion that you drew,   The barricades of class & caste askew. Death they say is the greatest leveller   And indeed it is true. For now the battle is not between me and you, But between the two extremities of survival and cessation. And the day when this ends, do not forget , that we were at stake- Our sub...

A mirage She tip toes into the brim of my mind, Paving her path into the core of my being. She walks in unabashed, uninvited and unseen- Delving me into her charm, her exquisite charisma. I linger in the wee brink of consciousness, while she slowly engulfs. Her catastrophic smile catapults the chords in my heart, Leaving me gasping for breath and sense. She is like the pearl emerging from the shell of an oyster, A mystical appearance that is borne of nothingness, yet so soothing and alluring. Like the lone thing that shimmers in the darkness of my mind. She is an aura I can not fathom, a presence I can not evade. She ruffles all the feathers of my imagination and fantasies- Her hazel eyes, mauve lips and the golden hair , That shines brighter than the rays of the midday sun. All of them sing a sweet lullaby to me, as if snoozing me off from reality. She is more than a dream or an ecstasy. She feels so far, yet so near. Distant yet so dear. She ...