Sunday Poem By Sanjana Srivastava

Kadombori’s Verses

The morning sun kisses your eyes,
The cuckoo brings flowers and fragrances.
It wakes you up singing,
Inspiring you to compose verses.
I am not dead.
Call me cuckoo or Kadombori.
I live in your frangible poetry and fragmented love-story.

When your fingers play the Sitar-strings,
When your feet brush the dew drops of the grass,
When your voice transcends the universe.
My spirit dances through the platonic cosmos.
I am not dead.
Call me crazed or Kadombori,
I live in your forsaken poetry and frenzied love-story.

When you said,
“Music fills the infinite between two souls,”
I smelt opium.
When you said,
“Love does not claim possession but gives freedom,”
I was forbidden.
I am not dead.
And shall bewitch you on death-bed.
Call me Kadombini or Kadombori.
I live in Jibon o Mrityu and Gitanjali.

“কাদম্বিনী মরিয়া প্রমাণ করিল সে মরে নাই… ”
(“Kadombini died, thereby proved that she hadn’t…”)