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richasmukherjee.com

love, laughter, pain, joy, life and its lessons, one word at a time

Month

June 2016

Red Bosphorus


Every part of me aches.Racked by a nameless fever or rage, despair, hopelessness.

I was infected by tears, mutilated bodies, lives torn asunder and ashes of hope.

Hope that were dashed against walls by terror, guns, knives, bombs.

I look at you gasping for breath now, clutching , grasping for composure and it breaks my heart.

I walked your cobbled streets, walking to nowhere, breathing in the industriousness and determination of those fishermen selling hamsi every day. Served with just the right drizzle of salt and smiles.

My heart rose and fell with the tides of the Bosphorous.

My eyes glazed with wonder as they swallowed the grand mosques and minarets dotting your Crimson skies

How my aching feet danced away with those little childrenin the streets of Grand Bazaar.

Rows upon rows of twinkling chandelier studded lanes lighting up sparkles of hope.

My hands are now still. Sometimes wringing in wretched frustration, sometimes in prayer.

Look what they have done to you my poor darling.

Those warm smiles , embraces and chatter have dissolved into tears and are flowing away, turning your shores red.

Let our prayers, memories and love be the raincoat that shields you from this storm of hate.

Let them lash, let them rage and spew hatred outside.

They will never get to your golden soul, but one day the world will get to them. And they will have nowhere to hide.

Dark Skies


There is something that brings out the melancholy when it rainsIn the sheets of blinding rain I see faces, of people loved and lost.

Pouring onto my window pane, questioning, thundering, complaining, how life flowed along like an ebullient little river, without them.

Wasted sinuous streams find their way to the gutters, gushing out of sight like the trips and plans that never materialised.

Pregnant, voluptuous waves crashing onto the shores, frothing, seething, venting a nameless rage.

Blinding lightning stokes unknown fires buried deep in the dark shadowy recesses of my heart.

The pitter patter on the porch through the night, competing with the ticking clock on the mantel, a constant reminder of the never ending race against time.

Tick tock. Tick tock.Tick tock.

But then the next morning a cool breeze hits my face, the clouds turn white, the slight drizzle is like a warm embrace.

I breathe deep and fill my lungs with a beautiful, bright day,

Oh I know you’re there, rumbling in the distance, but you’re still some miles away.

Vanish


What will happen on a day when you want to be nothing?

Not a frustrated employer with repetitive instructions.

Not the earnest employee trying to save the world from nuclear catastrophe by shooting off that one last email.

Be gone the anxious wife constantly casting the web of a healthy diet onto a reluctant soul.

Be gone the constant mother with that constant spoon full of food, running that daily marathon.

Be gone always the little daughter, terrified of what might take them away.

I don’t want to be a friend , foe or relative today.

I don’t want to make phone calls, I don’t want to be devout and pray.

I’ve shed my skin, and with it all my responsibilities for the day.

I want my world to be restitched with a blanket, stormy rain, a piping hot mug of coffee and an old tattered book.

I’ll cover myself from head to toe, and imagine myself perched by a murmuring brook.

I was whole, but I know little pieces of me that my ‘everyday’ took.

I am nothing today but I’ve found my old self, even if for a moment, nuzzled in a cozy nook.

A faint sound


I remember how your hearty laughter always filled up a room.

How the cadence of those feet coming home would dispel a whole days worth of gloom.

I spent many nights wrapped in the comfort of those familiar snores.

How that tiny sigh would escape your lips as we hugged, making me crave for just one more.
The doorbell, phone and the neighbours now are used to my disdain. 

The deafening applause after our favourite shows, is soundless, like a shriek unheard in deafening rain.

After you’ve poured your tiring day into my uninterested ears,

It breaks my heart to see your eyes when I turn and ask ‘ How was your day my dear?’

I spend my days stalling, desperately trying to guess what’s been said.

I do my accounts of truly heard vs imagined words when at night I’m finally in bed.

Forgive me love. Your eyes I must forsake as your lips will now be my guide
.

Forgive me love. Your sweet nothings whispered have lost their way, this I can no longer hide
.

I know you wonder how I can be happy when I haven’t even heard much in a while.

I see you. I can still touch you. I remember these blessings, and that’s what makes me smile.

Hush…


Honking Horns, roaring machines, angry screams and a frustrated shout.

Welcome to the city, noise is what it’s all about.

Sometimes I think, to let my own thoughts in,

I need to drown out the world and lose the crowds.

Once upon a time there lived a little girl.

Who told many tales to a murmuring brook.

The whistling wind in the willows heard her secret.

The chirping birds listened intently, but knew all too well how to keep it.

She played with her friends in the tall grass, filling the air with chortles and laughter.

The owl hooted a lullaby every night while she dreamed of a happy ever after.

The brook is parched, it’s dead and gone.

It won’t speak to her anymore, her childhood stories lie waiting and forlorn.

The wind has dissipated lost amid tall towers.

The chirping birds drowned out, they’ve lost their power.

The owl wails a melancholy song of the times that have been shown the door.

The sound of silence, the sound of happiness is no more.

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