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Barshana Goswami Poem
So did you lose him?
He may have happened to you,
Like a moment’s whim,
Slipped through your fright,
Like sands that defy your might,
Your panicked fingers that hoped to stick;
Or the fleeting flash of warmth across a cold,
A cold unfeeling skyline;
The page from literature you often leafed back to,
Where the pen had scribbled your story,
Your Lochinvar lapped in romance;
Like the bruise daubed on your body,
The stab wrenching a riddle on your bones.
So how did you lose him?
Suddenly?
Like he screeched a brake and drew up the car,
And opened the door for you,
And asked you to step out?
Refined. Gentlemanly.
Desperately beseeching,
Leave.
Or did you lose him in bits and parts?
Like the slow slackening of the tautest handcuffs;
Did you lose him in pieces?
While you sought to secure love,
It leashed around his neck,
Until even the dregs cried out,
Desperately beseeching,
Escape.
What more did you lose with him?
A part of yourself?
Copyright © Barshana Goswami | Year Posted 2013
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Barshana Goswami Poem
A pair of mystical bronzed eyes,
Glimpsed into my charmed heart.
The rains poured down in relentlessness;
Coupled with the winter frost,
it ran a chill through my veins.
A mellow candle flame,
Burned in the distance.
In resemblance to the diffused blaze,
Ignited within my sapphire heart.
The darkness of the night grew;
the silver moon hid herself behind the nimbus.
I glanced back at those eyes.
A strange awe drenched me.
There was weakness in those eyes,
and I found my strength.
Copyright © Barshana Goswami | Year Posted 2013
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Barshana Goswami Poem
He walked in through the main door,
“Unbolted?” he wondered.
An ebbing shade of brown painted layer,
The polish on the door, dulled.
A poor man’s residence,
Deplumed sofa covers,
Sidestepped since the past three years.
The chewed up walls, unrepaired.
Jim heard the church bells chime
Music!
Yes, music was assigned to be his steps to fame.
Music at which his bosom would blink!
This was not how it was meant to be –
He was not to lose the music in him
To the dingy clamor and rattle of whizzing cars
And the cheerless chatter of noisy mechanics.
On peeling off the apparel of fetters,
And dressing herself in the robe of her dreams,
Della walked in to a dance class,
To live life on her own.
“Leave your dreams for your love, Della”
Jim, a strange shielding mistrustful lover,
And Della, a mirror of foolish fondness,
“If that is what you wish, dear”
She had planned life differently,
To dance her way to Rome, Venice, Italy.
Love carefully plucked out every feather
That clothed the bird yielding body to her dreams.
Today she left Jim,
She left love,
She left to build her wishes,
And spew life into the bloodied carcass of her fancies.
Along with flouting love,
Not love, but custom,
Della returned Jim his freedom
And seized from him her own.
Marriage and making money,
That had throttled their dreams,
Della eased the grasp,
The grasp of cohabitation.
Copyright © Barshana Goswami | Year Posted 2013
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Barshana Goswami Poem
And he sure did not tiptoe in,
To whisper his charm.
Kindling a buzzing din?
Or a rustle fraught with harm?
Unbodied voices of delusion,
Screeching to trick,
One foot on cloud nine,
Shadowed by the Devil’s peek.
Pulling off the mundane apparels,
Draping my pale canvas
In squirts of colorful tubes.
Colors of fantasy?
Dreams? Illusions?
Cleansing one corner of my restless mind,
Mind? Or do we call it heart?
He has tapped figments,
Figments that had been long purring
And sleeping;
Plugging the voids in my mind,
Let’s call it - the hollows in my heart,
With that which we call,
Life.
Copyright © Barshana Goswami | Year Posted 2013
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Barshana Goswami Poem
Defeat creaming,
Around wet minds,
Blear noisy eyes.
Colors discolored,
Charred black.
If white peeps,
Threatens to amend,
Erase the black
And bleach;
I choose.
Black needles,
Defeats white.
Naked cuts.
Does one run and flee?
Or hide?
Or yield?
Or wanting to loosen,
Fetter the knot closer?
Prejudiced happiness.
Serves the culprit,
And scorns the athirst.
Love defiles,
Sullies there,
Where even you
Fear to finger.
If inflated Pride,
Threatens to embalm,
I choose.
Love rapes and wastes,
Defeats a Deadly Sin.
Shrunken figments.
Quenched.
Does one mourn and accuse?
Or cede?
Or wanting to empty the vessels,
Pour more?
Copyright © Barshana Goswami | Year Posted 2013
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