(Written, 18th August, 2009: inspired by a dream on the night before)
*
There's no point of reference
no sense of presence
only absolute darkness;
I am ruptured, floating
without any structure,
the darkness is cold and soothing
it reminds of the sweet winters
and then there's the white snow
trickling down so slow;
falling into a heap
as if making a snowman by itself,
after the motion was arrested
i don't know for how long
there was no time to know;
a slice of snow withered
off the heap ,as if unvealing a statue
so white and magnifique,
This withered snow undid the darkness
painting this canvas - white with one stroke
and so the statue broke
broke its silence
defying stone by delicate wings
like a butterfly out of cocoon
wings white , white o my fairy white
she whirled and tempted me
ruptured , floating , i followed
She brought with her dense white clouds
she sat on them sensuously
her white gown barely covering her chest
and one leg hanging down
and the other fixed under her thighs
the cloud flew over a path
structured like a rainbow
just no colors , white again
the only other colour
of her skin
her clinched fist opened
like a bud , does on a sleepy morning
her fingers delicate , inviting;
like she hid secrets
of nature in her bosom
ruptured , floating , i followed
The dense cloud , i couldn't touch
i had to climb
no sense of what;
she was no goddess
she was willing to bless
i was ruptured , she healed
her voice of the calm ocean
her eyes its blue essence
no darkness now
only white with snow
I went for the forbidden
sure i couldn't touch
she wasn't there anymore
only the white clouds
which weren't white anymore
poof ! went one and the other
and another, one by one
i fell into the black
spiralling spiralling
back to the darkness
where there's no point of reference
no sense of presence
only absolute darkness
-Arpit Kumar
B.A. (Hons.) English; I Year
1 comment:
Dear Arpit,
Without going into critical analysis, I'll just comment on what I read......And let me tell you, the reading was good....though it could had been better but it certainly doesn't contradict the talent you possess.... In poetry, to say, whether a poem good or bad is meaningless because it's the emotion which speaks not words... Words only compliment the emotions.... Though the title seems quite off-track in beggining but as the poem goes on, it's realised that there couldn't had been a better title to this... Keep going like this untill your poems also raise themselves beyound all the points of references. Good work!!
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