Wednesday, August 1, 2018




She often wondered “what if?”
Yes only “what if?”
She knew her world rested on
Just these two words.

A profound sadness adorned her face
And the sorrow grew ardent as
She contemplated on “what if?”
Just these two words.

The ceremonial walls revived her losses
That she’d encountered in her previous life
Yet she was lost in her reflection of “what if?”
Just these two words.

“Don’t trust these words” the doctor had
told her. She tried to pretermit yet she was
Caught in the gyre of “What if?”
Just these two words.

She stared at the mirror which reflected
The dark circles beneath her eyes.
She hadn’t slept since ages as her world rested on
“What if?” Just these two words.

Her eyes now lacked the luster,
She could no longer see the inquisitiveness
That passion and fire. What remained behind
was her hollow soul with these
two words forever etched in her mind
“What if?”

There stood the tomb where she
was buried. Her death was the witness
That she was yet another victim to
Just these two words “What if?”


Silence crossed my path asking
me if I am doing well.
It was an inky night
Devoid of moonlight and also the stars.
I knew I had to drink the silence
To thwart the fears that threatened to
Swamp me. I spoke to the trees, the leaves and twigs
And asked them if they had any cure
For my loneliness.

Silence crossed my path again
Caressing my skin like a
Cool summer breeze. It soothed my cragged spirit
As I tried to negotiate my aloneness with
The flora.
Sans of any wind the leaves on that cactus plant
Hung limp until they fell off without any whisper.
Nature had conspired with silence
To keep me in the dark. Not daring to mumble
The reassurance that I craved.

Silence crossed my path for the last time
Asking me on how I was coping with him.
I smiled and looked at my confidantes –
The trees, the leaves and the twigs;
I told silence that I have a cure
I do have a cure for my loneliness.


It was raining in the night when
I sat to write my poems;
My ebony desk was the witness
That I had painted my empty
Canvas with string of words.
It was then the words spoke
to me, “lady go watch the rains”
I looked out and saw the gentle
waves the rains created.
Each drop ceding unto the cooling air
The street lamp glittered
As if I saw the stars smiling amidst the rain.
The crazy chaotic drops carried
by the wind. I try to write again
When the words spoke to me
for the last time “lady write on rains”
Today is the day of inescapable
wetness as I sit to watch the downpour
And paint my empty canvas with string
of words. Can I really write on rain?
Can I?


RIMLI BHATTACHARYA is a gold medalist in Mechanical Engineering and an MBA in supply chain management. Her writing has appeared in several magazines, engineering journals, blogs, and in the anthology Book of Light. She is also a trained classical dancer and is based out of Mumbai, India. She tweets @rimli76.

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