Home Poetry Knock, Knock- Parcel Arrived – Poetry from Assam

Knock, Knock- Parcel Arrived – Poetry from Assam

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Knock, Knock- Parcel Arrived – Poetry from Assam

They polish the word DOWRY and tag it as wedding gifts, taken as good omen.

 Look, how they are boasting,

 As if they bought it.

[author title=”Deepika Singh ” image=”https://sindhcourier.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/Deepika-Singh-Assam-Sindh-Courier.jpg”]Deepika Singh is a poetess from Margherita Assam India. Qualified as M.A, B. Ed, she is teacher by profession. Her writings reflect her personal observations of day to day life. She believes that the right words can change our society. Some of her poems got featured in a number of magazines and also got translated into Chinese, Macedonia, Spanish and Serbian language. She also received honor from Yan’an government China and Gujarat Sahitya Academy, India. [/author]

 

Knock, Knock- Parcel Arrived

 Finally their wait is over,

 Very soon they will receive their long awaited parcel.

 Each day their cunning eyes are yearning for,

 In joy they are humming the lyrics of avaricious,

 Tapping their cripple feet to the tune of deceit

 In the lanes they are busy endorsing their parcel.

 Rooms and wardrobes are already vacant for the arrival,

 The grey evening hovered and the parcel arrived.

 Monarch bed, Leather couches, Luxury dining table,

 Added with gems and labelled clothes,

 Ah! Endless list!

 They polish the word DOWRY and tag it as wedding gifts, taken as good omen.

 Look, how they are boasting,

 As if they bought it.

 They don’t have pity for the buyer,

 Shameless creatures

 They are just hunger for need, wealth and show off.

 They view women as objects.

 Grieving bride’s father overflowed his life’s savings,

 He is broke now.

 Poker face bride suppressed her tears.

 Their uncivilized act is lawful,

 For women it is even crime to cry.

 Her credentials are blindly judged of being a good wife,

 But men’s inhuman act is dignified.

 Men made these social norms

 And their rights became commandment.

 Stop this fetching dowry legacy,

 Be human and let humanity win.

 Unfiltered Story 

 I was like you, one among you, 

 Chirping all the time

 Loved to be enveloped with people 

 Always extended helping hands,

 I was an ointment who healed the scars.

 Fresh breeze, nutrition of thoughts

 I thought others to be the same, 

 Who value honesty and treasure those humble souls.

 Acidic remarks hijacked the pleasure centers in my brain. 

 Bestowed with hollow promises

 I carry the burden of scars,

 Don’t accept me to be normal.

 Embarking on a great battle

 I don’t play the tune of my sorrows now,

 Drained out hopes, faith in dwarf planets 

 Deep down my soul always cry,

 Scars are nowhere to heal.

 Bitterness is paralytic.

 Storm of tears and mosses of sadness

 In solitude I find comfort now.

 A piece of me dies every second.

 If you don’t walk in my shoes 

 You don’t know the path,

 I had walked too.

 I am just a laughing stock and topic of discussion,  

 For bugging mind

 Everything seems alien now. 

 Emotional battles hard to deal with, 

 I cry tears of blood.

 Arrogance reflects in my face.

 I don’t like to see mirror now,

 Yes I am harsh too.

 In fear of getting pangs,

 I too was unstained,

 Betrayal contaminated my soul,  

 Lost in unethical coiled life!

 Just a Figurine 

 In my yesteryears I played with a lovely doll.

 I caressed her everyday

 She was my soul,

 And I was her heartbeat.

 When I stepped in my budding days,

 She smiled and said ‘You are a doll’.

 I ignored her, 

 Never dived deep into the depth of her words

 I smiled and got engrossed in the mortal coil of life. 

 As days passed by I realized,

 That I am just like a rag doll.

 In the hands of fragile hearts

 Some souls are just pastime gadgets.

 Life is so uncertain.

 People step in our life.

 Shower with a million dreams.

 Toy with our emotions. 

 To expertise in flamboyance,

 To master in oratory.

 Their hunger is never fulfilled,

 Always in search of new prey

 Leaving us abandoned,

 When we need them the most

 And then come the mass parade 

 To hear our raw story

 Instead of helping hands,

 Giving us a hamper of pit-hole tips.

 Adding more spices and advertising our tales.

 It’s too difficult to stitch our tormented heart and trust again.

 Painted face carries its glory.

 Beautiful soul lies somewhere in the corner of dark room,

 Finally we become the effigy.

 _________________