The chiffon night is a marquee.
It’s well past seven and I look out of my hotel window to see a hilly town below, dotted with glowworm lights.
Time is like a blob of butter in my soup bowl, melting, and I see myself walking along the trails of our scar.
The flow chart of our life events are pages of different books we wish to read and then wish away.
The silence of the hills makes me crawl into myself, here it is quiet, here you are mine.
A person is only a few digits away.
A strange oscillation ~ should I or should I not?
My heart hears sounds of fluttering wings while my phone screen decides that I need to return.
A heaviness hangs over, once again I make a choice to depart leaving behind the hills and us.
– Mallika Bhaumik
Comments 1
This is a wonderful piece of poetry, didi.
How beautifully the line begins,
‘The chiffon night is a marquee.’
and then the protagonist goes on to describe the place, especially the beauty of that particular night,
‘I look out of my hotel window to see a hilly town below, dotted with glowworm lights.’
And the uncertainty of the time lurking over that certain moment,
‘Time is like a blob of butter in my soup bowl, melting…’
What an amazing way to describe that rush of pulse as the time is slipping away.
‘A strange oscillation’
how beautiful the poetry grows deep, deep, deep from here until the closure where it narrates about making difficult decision of choosing — mind over heart.
This is an absolute cinema of emotions. An art film. What more can a reader ask for?
The writing is full of grace and eliteness. Thank you for writing this piece of poetry, didi. Congratulations on being featured here. Will be looking forward to more creative pieces from you. Your short stories and essays are equally good. Best wishes.