First published in Dissent Voice
Freedom is fey. It eludes, seduces with wafting winds, flits with clouds across borders that divide. Yet for that fence, Freedom supped on the blood of men. But did she come? This Freedom with her promise
First published in Dissent Voice
Freedom is fey. It eludes, seduces with wafting winds, flits with clouds across borders that divide. Yet for that fence, Freedom supped on the blood of men. But did she come? This Freedom with her promise
First Published in Dissident Voice
When peace falls like drops, it drips from a tap and stops. There is no water. No water to be had. How can we look, look for peace...
First published in Dissident Voice
A bird flies to its nest. A blast of fiery sunset explodes with the onset of attempts at peace.
First published in Lothlorien Journal
A Bug’s Fantasy A light bug hovers near a bulb, part of a multitudinous crowd attracted by the brilliance of the shine. This life of mine, the insect thinks, is precious and I will glitter with brightness, be recognised for my refulgence. I am beautiful and unique. My fame will spread far, obliterate even the lamp, the sun, the stars, the moon. A blind...
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First Published in Countercurrents
Stretching far beyond the distant horizons is a mountain where trod the gods on their way to heaven, where mankind prayed for redemption, for a broader vision, for union with universal, infinite energies. The peaks tower snow white — stretch out an awning. Long ago, these were not there. The ranges birthed as two ancient land masses embraced. Their child, these hills, these peaks, the grand Himalayas, the Everest — a love-child, an accident of nature? And yet, they have stood longer than you or me, much longer in history. They stretch towards the clouds, aged50 million… and still growing: man of less than 200,000 years draws lines, boundaries on these hills. Borders of development, economics, politics, intolerance — what do these mountains think?...
First published in Different Truths
Naked words sear truths across the universe melting swords dripping venom and blood. The Truth hurts, singes, burns, brands but stands fearless. Poetry has the courage to spell — to write about exploding skies that kill innocents, or of toxic fumes annihilating with sulphurous hate. Poetry can colour the hate with love...
First published in Different Truths
Each garden weaves a new story. The garden where I was born, had roses that bloomed between thorns. There was a garden where Sita waited to be rescued, chaste, hoping she remained unraped. Why? Did she not know of Kali who killed demons when men failed? Could Kali ever be made unchaste by the fear of rape? In that garden, Sita waited for the man who worshipped Durga to win a war...
First Published in Daily Star, Bangladesh
Each night, the sea with the moon croons a lullaby. The clouds sigh as the star-studded silver sky, embraced by moonbeams, breaks into a song. Gossamer dreams with wispy wings waft along, lulling the Earth to sleep with their honeyed hum.
by Mitali Chakravarty, First published in Dissident Voice
Whether to break an egg
from the top or the bottom
was a complex issue for
Gulliver’s friends. They
warred with low-tech
arrows, roped in a giant
friend who showed the
world with his creator’s
pen the futility of such fights.
But now, looming in the
reddened, border-drawn
formerly unbordered skies,
war planes fly. Threats of
mushroom clouds instill fears
of absolute annihilation.
Life, land incarnadined with
wraiths of humans, …
First published in Countercurrents.org. Click here to read.
Let us go there, you and I, hoping chocolates fall from the sky. Let us go into a hilly terrain, where flows the ancient Amu Darya, where Marco Polo watched sheep graze on the grass of Pamirs. Do they still browse or is it tamam shud with a rat-a-tat-tat? Has the river turned red? Incarnadined, gaze ghosts (Click here to read the full poem)