RIMLI BHATTACHARYA

RIMLI BHATTACHARYA

WHAT IF

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?”

WHEN SILENCE CROSSED MY PATH

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.

THAT NIGHT IT RAINED

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

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.