An Ode to Nothing
On the road the morning besoms
hum Horatian odes to the leaves and blossoms
fallen. The night passed belonged to a storm.
An ant leads and follows, the marching of one.
I know what these remind and I cannot recall.
A car stalls at the red; no other vehicle
rolls from that side or from this,
but the signal stays static.
The First Blood
You will not realise
the first born, a river
with two blind ends,
spreads like a lake unless
you fly high and see
the body of truth with the drone-eyes.
He opens the door for the house.
Others have so many chores.
He grins, welcomes the folks visiting
and drips his shoulders when
winter ebbs, and the gadabouts
become only the feathers they leave.
He is all our mistakes while fishing
for truths. Beneath his rippling skin
lies desires died and secrets jettisoned.
At night he gurgles, "In me
my father sleeps with a stone chained
to his neck." You shiver.
A swirl of fireflies ribbons
the gift of darkness.
You Know These Are Questionable Truths
I told my friend Amit,
I forget what I write.
Once a reader queried
why I wrote some lines
and I vivisected my love like a critic.
That night we strolled into a fort
for a drink with a stranger
who would declare
a no-man's land between us,
Did we? Perhaps I fake my life,
live the lies, forget
the creation and believe tales as truths.
The author of ‘Postmarked Quarantine’ has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of ‘Words Surfacing’. His works have been translated into twelve languages.
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Hush! she is a spirit of fine fettle
clad in whole nine yards of mystique,
haunted by a gossamer fabric of heresy.
Maligned in her charm
The halo of an apparition,
she unfurls her midnight legend.
They say those Gothic figurines
register her presence.
Bylanes wallow in her dimming halo,
barks and howls are overpowered
as she marks her spot,
Her abode in the banyan tree's shadows.
The Blue Lady denounces articles of faith.
In these summer crests,
she sleeps on orphaned railway tracks.
Is teased by Dilkusha pebbles,
with mongrel squeals her consolation.
Is seen by the teenaged runaway,
flashing green eyes from train compartments.
Hush, here she springs a surprise,
eyeing a more mortal desire.
That curious commoner on a bicycle
He is the one she fancies,
a mortal lust seen in flesh and blood.
the Clock Tower touts her hour,
Blue Lady declares her midnight manner.
A misunderstood wanderer,
groping his dusky instincts.
Both glisten in the river's pure nocturnal depths.
Twin spirits of fine fettle,
marking this rendezvous since years two-score.
Mr. Sinha notes: DILKUSHA: an area surrounding my school La Martiniere and situated in the heart of my hometown Lucknow.
This poem originally was self-published by the writer on his Wattpad poetry collection WHISTLING CHIMES in 2015.
The writer’s name is PRITHVIJEET SINHA from Lucknow, India, a proud member of the faculty of ENGLISH AND MODERN EUROPEAN LANGUAGES, LUCKNOW UNIVERSITY . He is a post graduate in MPhil, having launched his writing career by self publishing on the worldwide community Wattpad since 2015 and on his WordPress blog AN AWADH BOY’S PANORAMA besides having his works published in several varied publications as GNOSIS JOURNAL, READER’S DIGEST, CAFE DISSENSUS EVERYDAY, CAFE DISSENSUS MAGAZINE, CONFLUENCE, THE MEDLEY, THUMBPRINT MAGAZINE, WILDA MORRIS’ POETRY BLOG, SCREEN QUEENS, BORDERLESS JOURNAL encompassing various genres of writing ,from poetry to film reviews, travel pieces, photo essays to posts on culture .His life force resides in writing. His two poems DREAMS and WISH UPON A STAR have been published in a children’s anthology titled NURSERY RHYMES AND CHILDREN’S POEMS FROM AROUND THE WORLD YOU MAY NOT HAVE HEARD recently, edited by ANITA NAHAL and MEENAKSHI MOHAN, also available on Amazon Books.