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Fragmented – Poetry from Bengal

Fragmented – Poetry from Bengal
Illustration Courtesy: Pinterest

 Fragmented me!

My conscious mind always drained luxury restrains.

Suhina Biswas- Sindh CourierA writer from Kolkata, Bengal and a life-long devotee of Swami Vivekananda, Suhina is against any discrimination. Two significant life-forces propel her – ‘love’ and ‘writing’. Suhina’s book ‘Tumi’ (you) and Songs of Silence (A Journey to Love), are collections of her poetic thoughts.




I don’t try but today

Why my writing reflects the shadow not sun ray

Dark patch of tearing surroundings

Like snake bites


I fear to be changed into ashes,


But they conspire

Consider my indifferent stagnant hermit–look no more

No more they allow my dormant hunger to vomit

To wash out the waste

No more rest

As if they whisper to whip…


Fragmented me!

My conscious mind always drained luxury restrains


The Prometheus engraved within sobs

Too tired but bear its nagging vives

Though I deny … deny to listen to feel to move or convey

Suddenly then the golden sky breaks into tears and look away…


My mission would be changed

I fear to feel and flash

The world from frontiers send a mail, alas

Then another one and then…..


I fear to open or walk away

I think of the other world of smell and clay

I love to be frozen and stagnant in my ivory tower,

But can’t, no individual deserves power


I hear the collision and collapse

I wish I could wait for the moment perhaps

The field would be ready for the hungry cattle again

Some songs of fading nights dreams of foolish brides

Forgotten shackle and chain


Before that my canvas reveals some unspoken truth of my heart

Which were not dark

But tint of blood makes them bark


Make those easy to reach

Believe me, I never preach

Never hurt

Those shattered shades are today’s part.


My Pallbearers  

I’m not alone who’re waiting to die

Don’t sigh

While the rest dig their graves

Perhaps none would be there to follow their paves and carry their coffins

Middle of the living ruins

Perhaps none would be here to shout then


Then, hey poor men

For whom you gamble and gather clutters….

Debris of fallen soldiers, broken fires, melting hearts and curly furs

Yellow grasses are captured…. those sculptures of numbness and harsh


I’m here to hide my pallbearers,

Feed them, give them altar, warmth of the wombs

No more tombs or symphony of epitaph

Enough is enough


Create a circle with rope

One day they’ll learn how to plough

Grow seeds of hope

Breaking the chains of curse and cult


Calmly carry the buttons of light

With my undefeated desires to enjoy any fight

Before crossing the valley of death

Rendering the blushing victory ahead!