Deeya Bhattacharya

An Ekphrasis

She sleeps in Autumnal beauty

oh look! Her hairs a toast to the plumage

her skin a chiseled golden honey

she sleeps in a valley

of morbidness

her slip, trance a mystery

against a backdrop of neutral tones

she harbours innocence

a glance in a once, she stole

 

She sleeps in what hidden passion

one not knows

beneath her chin, a little bit

the colour ashen grows

 

She sleeps intense

her ochre hairs

encircle the womb of earth

cherubian beauty engraved

upon her livid pallors

constitute the Fall in dearth

 

Baby birds nestle against

her lucid skin

the tawny moon, a pale orb

illuminates the backdrop

and a cluster of stars decked

in a string of pearls

in refulgence crop

 

Unmindfully, the Diana

sleeps;

halo encircled ………………

while the hunter stalks his prey

the stag, hyena, cheetah

in array, she knows not

‘ coz her sleep easeful as the

strokes petite……… of a painter

prowess testifies.

 

 

An Intriguing Face

For how many hundreds of centuries

have I not seen

the image of your face

nor searched for it

 

The search for the face

by the dust-settled window panes

in the gold rimmed orb

of the scorching sun, went on

the flittering gaze

of a blue-bottle fly like

from here to there

 

The aroma in those

lost tragedies, over-arched

in rainbow-hued glass panes

surprisingly, short lived

raw mangoes in oil like

sharp and salty with a twang

 

Those memories never rested

from toil-sauntering in

the brisk sun-adding to the

plight of an incessant thirst.

 

 

Hunger in the Night

The night in our garden

is intense but fragile

the misty moon atop the dew

ceaselessly flows into each other

 

The night in our garden

is full of longing

sucking up the vortex of thoughts

flowing like river

 

The river in our garden

is full of silky fragrance

severed like cubes of ice

perch on our hunger

 

The hunger of the wind

on moss, ferns and potted plants

the hunger

in tales of lost love

 

On hungry nights like these

in our lit-up porches

we cook consciousness

which bind our thoughts

to skin and sylvan pitfalls.

 

 

Midnight Blues

The circles

under  your eyes

burn like midnight blues

under water currents

check the flow of dunes

shifting in your eyes

 

long black lashes

so poignant, at times

brush strokes of a maddening hand

guileless now

but discreet; like

the midnight strokes

of a prolific act.

 

Shaping a Poem

Words inky spelt all over

the diaphanous page

of a crumbled notebook

 

signs in blue , black, red

cryptic gestures like

creeping, crawling

wilted like a withered shrub

 

the shrubs of  ignorance

which I try to bury

under my pillows of

many insomniac nights

 

they haunt on me still

till I rearrange them

into an essay of quietude.

 

 

Deeya Bhattacharya ,hails from the Industrial town of Durgapur(West

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Bengal).She is published in many National and International mag. E-zines, websites in prints and in Anthologies. www.dimdima.com, literary yard.com, Contemporary Literary Review, Langlit, Criterion,  in’ Poetry World’, Journal of Literatures in English, Gulbarga University, All-Round Monthly (Faridkot) and the website:www.dimdima.com for children, Dimdima in print, Contemporary Vibes ( Chandigarh) , TAJMAHAL REVIEW, HARVESTS OF THE NEW MILLENIUM. wwwliteraryyard.com , New Academia, Subaltern Speak : A Journal Of Postcolonial Studies, The Sunday Hans. And International Mag like Tuck , oddball, Dissident Voice and learningandcreativity.com. Visited several poetry fest. She teaches English and Poetry in a Govt . Sponsored High school.