Your face as a heliograph
pinioned to the dark night
Does anyone know your prayer for the last syllable
like an embryo beneath rumbles
The lamp outposts inversed looking into your wounds, the uneasiness of a muzzeine’s cry
unsure of a prayer ( a pause between-)
Your wings, crumpled papers, against the luminous golden mosque spread wide- an ice berg sky.
No one knows the brevity of good byes
rolled in hands twirling and you let go
of your shudder between a death and a life unborn
Dead scarred faces crouch on your blemished breasts
Mother, their parched lips twisted in an attempt to bury their last hunger
your milk collected in small pools of blood in an inverse skeletal head
Rain, more rain dismantles the world.
There are mountains ahead
A peak that garlands the sun’s eyes
bathing in the saffron of sacrilege.
Beyond them no one knows
No one wants to know
A strong gust of wind once blew out a candle and everything else –
~ Ritamvara Bhattacharya
India
This poem reaches far beyond the horizon of a human being. We go to sleep in the attic of our thoughts but find ourselves stirred into wakefulness on the tableland of an unending tomorrow… Ritamvara’s poetry plays in a continuous cycle in the reader’s mind.
Thank you so much