Poetry – Ishika Chatterjee

Three Poems

Out Of Reach

Escaping the hive of reality, pain and sorrow in each cell
The feeling of worth, lost in the deep naive wishing well.
A cent for every wish, a rupee for every prayer,
Oh Almighty, does it even reach your ear?
Or is it lost in transit?
Hindering in deliverance, of the broken soul’s failed spirit.
Waiting for You, or anybody
To understand this embodiment of agony.

Oh Angel, the whisperer of prayers
Convey this to Him who hears,
Death is what we do not fear,
For Living is worse to adhere.

Time

It’s been a long day, I’ve walked too far carrying too less
It’s been a long night, I’ve slept too much with too little to dream
It’s been a long month, the trees have shed their golden leaves
It’s been a long year, with few hopes and scarce rays of the glorious sun.

The pain, the hurt, remains, reminding us of the vacant heart and the empty soul.
The vacancy pacifying the possibilities of getting hurt, the emptiness enriching the pain, normalising it.
We want closure, but it’s not something we can ask for, we’ll receive it with the withdrawal of the waves, the once in four , leap year, with the Red moon, with Time.

Colours

In this grey world, where everyone’s at race
restricted from flowing at my own pace.
In this maroon fire of passion and ecstasy
my thoughts are woeful and whimsy
In the blue lies and deceit of human kind
tired of this wretched, chaotic, barking mind
Give me white serenity, the power of blankness
let me write my own fate and cling on to my harness