AMANITA SEN

 

 

Thresholds

 

Not being one of her favourites,

the young aunt’s bookcase was

forever out of bounds,

an invincible fort.

 

Saul Bellow, Conan Doyle,

the centenary Tagore-

their spines stared back at me,

 along with others

my memory has long let go.

 

Why would it remember?

When their inaccessibility

was my only fate?

 

Not to feel them in my palms,

not to breathe in the heady scent

of freshly opened pages,

not to set sail on voyages

of wonderment with words-

 

standing near the  glass bookcase,

I learnt what thresholds were

and how some are never meant

to be crossed, simply because

what lies beyond them

is never ours.

 

The world is a bookcase now-

people, books.

Some thresholds I never cross,

like they are the aunt’s bookcase.

Sometimes I too become

the same bookcase.

 

When The City Blurs

 

This is why you love the rain.

 

It softens the hard edges of the city,

dissolves the steely resolve

of proud addresses and tall buildings.

 

On the flyover, as clouds draw near,

your heart feels bolder—

as if it could reach up

and touch the sky.

 

You read meanings in the raindrops

that rest so gently on the glass,

wondering at the distances they’ve travelled,

the countless shapes they’ve worn,

 

all to arrive here,

to blur the world for you

in this tender haze.

 

Mist works for you—

for a while.

 

Haven’t you,

in all vulnerability

watched too keenly,

too clearly

all these years?

 

AMANITA SEN

 

AMANITA SEN is an Indian poet, translator, critic, and mental health professional based in Kolkata. She has authored three volumes of English-language poetry and written scripts for three short films. She also volunteers with various literary groups, helping to organize their events and edit anthologies.