By Amita Ray
Memories barge in wayward spree of renewal
tipsy with fragrance of Mahua
wrapped in indolent leisure
i inhale spring at sunset’s brink.
The Palash tinged days, hyphenated silence
scroll down in ebullient patches,
a distant cuckoo’s note
overpowers a grove of Neverland
diffusing vignettes of joy
in constant ebb and flow—
the sprawling backyard of my eyes enlivens
stealing shades from pristine palette.
The spring in me lives
a framed glow of Gulmohar
*Mahua : An Indian tree which has nectar rich flowers blooming in spring from which an alcoholic drink is made.
*Palash, Gulmohar: Trees with blooms of red and orange respectively.
A Monsoon Song
A day long pitter patters on my window pane
alternate cascading torrents battering down
a ‘plop’ here,
a ‘splash’ there,
a perfect diurnal sonata.
Night descends, darkness looms
the rain hums a mild cadence at midnight
in keeping with rhythms
drunk in nonstop sedative I tip toe
reach the riverbank
my paper boat anchored
the river in spate
long washed away a childhood
in deluge of tear ravaged survival.
Amita Ray is a former associate professor in English based in Kolkata. An academic of varied interests she is a published translator, short story writer and poet. She has two books of translations to her credit. Her short stories have been published in The Sunday Statesman, Cafe Dissensus, Setu and other on line magazines. A collection of her short stories is due to be published soon. Her poems have been widely published and featured in anthologies.
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