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Nayanika Dey Poem
My heart still holds the unused beats,
My shallow lungs long the stolen breaths,
And the bones, cloaked and masked, run empty of flesh.
The eyes that dreamt the dreams,
Are now separated from the sockets,
Like sharply detached staccato tones,
Sinking into lonely depths,
Weaving evaporated future and moments with vacant gaze.
I still stand still like the way they had hung me,
Wearing the same wreath of barbed thorns,
The skull and skeleton fastened in the trellis,
And buried in the sod that holds the blood
The blood of my chest,
That somewhere still runs raw in rivulets.
"Come lay your head on my stretched shoulders.
Listen to my melancholic memories"
I am calling to you, can you perceive?
I'm not the scarecrow you see,
It lassoes my soul. The farmer's soul.
Here I stand still echoing out my torments in mummed shrieks,
The secrets and confessions,
The complots and conspiracies of my spurious sons,
Who killed me softly to meet the hunger of affluence,
In lucid illusion of benevolence.
One day the clouds with swelled wombs will moisten my parched gullet,
The empty spaces below my feet will be nourished,
And the breeze hitting the poincianas around,
Will finally lull me to eternal sleep,
When obstreperous sins will be cleansed,
When justice will be served,
And truth will be harvested at every silence's leap.
Copyright: 1272017
Copyright © Nayanika Dey | Year Posted 2017
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Nayanika Dey Poem
I sensed myself sinking down
Culminating the stuccoes of existence
Crossing denouements of mortality
Obeying the laws of life's caducity
And defying the clusters of earthly brevity.
My nostrils perceived the essence
Beyond the sod
My ears apprehended the sounds
Of heavy metal spades
And my eyes saw the quietus
When the granules of clods broke
And made space for me
To lie amongst them
While my body felt the ache
When I was being gently graved.
I roused to realize
That my sweven
Toured me down
To the afterlife lane
To forgraith me
For the next realm of existence.
~Nayanika Dey
From: India
Copyright ©: ©7 March, 2016
Copyright © Nayanika Dey | Year Posted 2017
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Nayanika Dey Poem
The crayoned rainbow
Got swallowed by her sea bed,
Sinking deep inside.
Copyright © Nayanika Dey | Year Posted 2017
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Nayanika Dey Poem
A death isn't always
A death, it's birth of a new
Memory instead.
Copyright © Nayanika Dey | Year Posted 2017
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Nayanika Dey Poem
He could see her highly strung face
Behind the cloaked veil
A face taught to behold beautiful turbulent.
He could feel the shiver in her timid heart
And the fearful spasm
Running down her spine.
He held her hand and whorled the bangles
While hundred of foes
Opposing two hearts
Kept their eyes glued in line.
He stained her red;
By making that vermilion spread.
He jeweled her up with holy beads
And consecrated her with the garnet ink.
She devoted herself to him
When he adorned her nape
With the sacred tinsel tasseled thread.
He could see the love in her eyes for him
And with that sense of relief,
She embraced him tight
And said in a moist tone
As he kissed her lachrymose eyes,
'Our love will always bring the holy grail back.'
Copyright © Nayanika Dey | Year Posted 2017
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Nayanika Dey Poem
A story
Of an insignificant mother trailed.
When sledgehammered, pickaxed
Excavated, craned and the progress of
The ceaseless destruction of
Demolished construction railed.
So is a story
Of an insignificant mother trailed.
With wings flapped and heart ached, the dove
An emblem of peace hovered for some tranquility for itself,
As the stuccoes tore to rain
With rusted flatirons and hanging windowpanes.
So is a story
Of an insignificant mother trailed.
Her silent shrieks and mum squeals
With chaos within and mayhem sealed,
As the bricks crumpled down
And built heaps on heaths.
So is a story
Of an insignificant mother trailed.
Then some final cavalcades,
And encroaching gust
Of wrecking ball reconvened
And collapsing of the structure prevailed.
So is a story
Of an insignificant mother trailed.
Thrust onto the ground,
Smashed and crushed
Her nest that was on the old windowpane
With two little hatchlings dead and broken.
So is a story
Of an insignificant mother trailed.
Soaked and smeared was the sod
With trivial bloodstains,
As a merely existing mother
Lost her kids to developments.
So is a story
Of an insignificant mother trailed.
As the smokes of ruination came to rest
With dust of mourns settling on her crest,
Flew she away with unseen tears on facade
To an unknown destination of maybe another catastrophic shade.
So is a story
Of an insignificant mother trailed.
From: India
Copyright ©: 31 July,2016
Copyright © Nayanika Dey | Year Posted 2017
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Nayanika Dey Poem
Free them O' God!
For, the wind is spewed with ashes of hatred,
The bilboes that wait to bangle the innocents,
Hauling them down the barbed streets,
And caging them up, to blaze in iron aviaries.
Free them, O' God!
For the ocean is not thirsty any more,
It is full till its gullet, quaffing in pints the viscous gore,
Sluicing out from the naive skulls,
And from the distressed hems of their hearts.
Free them O’ God!
For the sod is no longer bleak,
It has drenched itself in the guileless claret,
Flushing out from their green dead ingenuous veins,
And sloshing about under its skin.
Free them O' God!
For the day doesn't know, for whom to wake up,
When merry-go-rounds and slippery slopes,
Are becoming the roller coaster rides to deaths,
And the juvenile paper crowns breed orphans.
Free them O' God!
For even the night hasn't slept for years,
The sounds of tormented voices, in the lap of gunshots,
Are hovering and echoing in its ears,
Making it stone deaf in every midget of seconds.
Free them O' God!
Free them all!
Free your pure and guiltless mortals,
What sins have they sowed?
That you are making them plough for!
~Nayanika Dey
Copyright © Nayanika Dey | Year Posted 2017
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Nayanika Dey Poem
Ruckuses uproars and turmoil
But that was not all
That our ears perceived
Bloodshed carnage and bloodbath
Of our own bloods
That was what our eyes lived with.
Our bodies were tripped over, tied up, tasered
Spanked, flogged, scourged and savored
By the inhuman communities.
With blood leaking out
From swelled veins
And with lesions and cicatrices
Getting deeper with every perforations
While we sat fragile, worn
Looped lassoed and shackled in silence
Watching shadows and scenes
of assaults, electrocutions, bashing
Decollation and alive burns
Beckoning to deaths
And we are some of the bondage survivors
From a world without peace and enslaved.
~Nayanika Dey
Copyright © Nayanika Dey | Year Posted 2017
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Nayanika Dey Poem
Look at me,
Look deep into my eyes,
Those sigh grief and behold your lies.
The most beautiful creatures,
Those witness their own beautiful disasters.
Those look down defying gravity,
To relentlessly hunt for brevity.
Eyes that mask the palpitation of heart,
When they behold the marks of lust on your shirt.
Eyes that curl in silence,
Dripping titanium tears to your violence.
Eyes that still never fail to search for you,
In crowds, and in reflections in drops of dew.
Look at me,
Look deep into my eyes,
See how beautifully I've captured you,
In these tiny mirrors of my sights.
Date: 14 March, 2016
Copyright © Nayanika Dey | Year Posted 2017
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Nayanika Dey Poem
No trails and traces
Of witching hours,
No tandem rides of battles
And encounters either.
No more tumultuous furors,
And cadence into tempestuous errors.
No sounds of sledgehammers
And Kalashnikovs,
No manipulations, bloodshed
And carcasses and gunshots.
No more beheading infants,
But juvenile and puerile breaths
Are nourished with iridescent.
No genocide and annihilation,
No holocaust and conflagration.
Cessation of innocent blood,
And termination of cadaver flood.
Slavery, bondage and servitude ends,
When the air gets pregnant
With fragrance of love
And these images of peace again.
From: India
Copyright ©: 10 November, 2016
Copyright © Nayanika Dey | Year Posted 2017
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