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Somrwita Guha Poem
And now and then eager lips
Give way to trips
But then again a composed mind
Tries to bind.
Copyright © Somrwita Guha | Year Posted 2011
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Somrwita Guha Poem
"I have dipped my pen in the sublime, it is my gift to you . . ."
A Rambling Poet
A river on my left
Rail tracks on my right
Yet the aim of a gun is my only sight.
A weapon heavier than me
A lover stronger than thee
And colored balloons under a tree.
An eye settling for the perfect gun-eye injury
A weapon close to a heart which (ironically) has never known fury.
Blue, Green, Red, Yellow
Each color in a row.
My finger on the trigger
And a mind of vigor
Shot four of them dead
Yet not a tear was shed.
On undressing myself the same day
I saw the same colors of May
On my thighs, breasts and arm,
A reflection of his charm.
Somrwita Guha
Copyright © Somrwita Guha | Year Posted 2011
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Somrwita Guha Poem
Tonight I am Jay Blue.
Tonight I smell of glue.
Tonight for you I am penning clues.
Tonight I shall paint more shoes.
Tonight I am like a fever.
Hence, tonight ourCup is over.
Tonight is never like before
Tonight is easy come easy go.
Tonight I am a lonely few
Tonight I don’t love you.
Tonight I am an open door
Hence, tonight I am a blessed whore.
Tonight I am not sane
Tonight I know pain.
Tonight I want more
Tonight I fail like never before.
Tonight I am your yellow kite
Hence, tonight I can write.
Copyright © Somrwita Guha | Year Posted 2011
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Somrwita Guha Poem
Red for a walk, a kiss and a rally by the old brick lane
Yellow for the garden that meets me when I look out of your pane.
Green for a small bullet in a box that travelled the world and cried myriad tears
Pink for all the moans you let out when I used to bite your ears
Purple for the letters we wrote to each other and kept in shoeboxes for five years.
Brown for the leaves that touched my lips,
Formed a cloud over my head and rushed out of my room with a point of no return
Orange for the rubber I used to suck in bed and eventually churn.
Blue for the place that taught me to love, a place where I met my dame.
And Black for whiskey in dark rooms and the dearth of an aim.
~Somrwita
Copyright © Somrwita Guha | Year Posted 2011
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Somrwita Guha Poem
She cooks by morning
Washes a sink full of dishes by noon
And twists to the Radio by afternoon.
She teaches by evening
Plays the Violin by night
And writes till dawn.
She rolls by morning
Smokes pot by noon
And twists to the Radio by afternoon.
She drinks by evening
Injects love into her blood by night
And knocks at your door at dawn
She says: M.a.r.i.a
You: W.h.o?
Copyright © Somrwita Guha | Year Posted 2011
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