Saheli Mitra


Have you ever torn a bud before it flowered?
Rudely awakening the silence of a sleeping soul it harboured.
That would have otherwise blossomed
Looking up at the sun and
blessing the Earth?
Your brutal curiosity left you
with just a few sepals!
You missed the gradual spread
of the whorls,
Vibrant hues that could have brought spring                                                                           to your worn out wintry months


Or perhaps you never did
mutilate a bud?
But they did.
Not one, but several.
They snatched those budding lillies
from their frail cradles,
Rudely terrifying the innocence
of blooming eves.
Threw them into dungeons of slavery
Brutally tore them, stripped them naked,
To check?
They were left just with soft flesh and clotting blood.
They missed the halo around them
that could have brought heavenly bliss
To their otherwise demonic lives.
Buds fell, Heaven lost, Demons bloomed.



Just between now and nowhere
as I was busy whisking a homeward flock

that was utterly lost in the maze of smoke and dust,
I brushed in flurry your muddy skirt.
You clasped it hard
Refuting my inviting charm.
Yet I was thrilled,
to delve under your skin,
And so were you to touch and feel
Something you have never seen.

And then between now and next
I played on dancing flower stalks,
Breaking twigs, rustling leaves,
chasing wings, whistling weaves,
I wafted past your wrinkled arms.
You covered them down
In your ashen gown,

Yet I never stopped whispering aloud,
Between this day and next
I will find my way.
Steering tonight
Blowing off your candle light.
And how hard you try
to keep that flicker alive,
You will blow along as free as me
On my wings to unknown lands.



Miles I went, miles I will tread again,
dreaming of sailing out
between this night and that day.
On a yacht of twinkling stars
between my room and your quay,
That you chose to cross alone one day.

Miles I will float again.
Riding on a rain-cloud
between these eyes and your shadows,
threatening to burst open,
Spilling a river of sorrows.

Miles I will run again,
Slipping on a crystal train,
between these seconds and those decades,
Smashing moons of Jupiter
kissing craters where you stood,
Zooming past the dust storm
Hoping to find you soon.

Only then will I stop
counting miles
That I took.
Do I see your steps across the quay
That someday you took?
Did you turn around to give me
one last look?

Saheli Mitra is a journalist, poet, author and blogger from themitra vibrant country India. She uses poetry primarily as a tool of protest against the patriarchal Indian society as well as against war and terrorism rocking the world today. Her first romantic novel Lost Words was internationally launched in 2014. Her verses have featured in several national and international literary journals like Yellow Chair Review, Piker Press USA, Tuck Magazine, Learning and creativity, Du-Kool, Taj Mahal Review, Red Balloon Anthology and many more. She runs a blog on women issues called allabouteve.