A Room of My Own

By Oindri Sengupta

THAT GROWS INSIDE

There used to be a room of my own.
When days hung like photographs on the walls
that fit inside me like allegories in your poems,
bringing many sunsets to rise 
from my mother's leftover knitting yarn.

It was a room without a face,
a place where time was a misnomer.
I lived there between living and unliving
and went on to travel barefoot
to unveil the hunger of a road.

Like silence grows in the attic,
the air now is drenched with smell of burnt grasses
as it lies abandoned like a ragged cloth
on the side of a highway.
With each passing day I see it fall,
from everything that was inside me
and with every bit of my life and living.

Oindri Sengupta is an assistant teacher of English at a Govt School in West Bengal. She had been published in journals like The Lake, Istanbul Literary Review, Chiron Review, Outlook India, Plato’s Caves Online, Abridged. Her debut collection of poetry is After the Fall of a Cloud. Her poetry has also been adapted into a play.

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