Friday, October 1, 2021





Absurdness That Makes Me Go Insane


Mostly I write on absurd things,

I cross the same path I crossed two days ago

Just to check if the promise secretly

Made in my mind is fulfilled now or not.

A dog wagging his curvy tail before my feet

Might get disappointed to know

I am not in the same situation to feed him.

My empty pockets do scream louder than the pockets crammed with coins,

Their shouts tell the story of agony and barrenness.

I am different, sometimes too ordinary to miss out easily,

Sometimes too significant to be noticed at the first place;

I can't promise rain right after a hot fucking day

Just like Delhi weather.

On sad days, I sit to count if I have efforted my best to leave the pivotal footprints

On this big fat yet flat world where my successors could survive on the lullabies of my good karma

And on happy days, I am hugging my sleep,

Or, eating to my core or, running like a mad bull

Or, climbing rocks effortlessly on a mountain.

My mother never taught me the steps of dancing,

She thought I could be a better singer to satisfy all the dissonance this society have

With the sweetest melody of my voice;

I wish she would know the importance of rhythms too,

Which dancing could give at its best.

I feel the crowd here will resonate the same vibe it did yesterday,

A confused amalgamation of thousand emotions,

A furious downpour of tantrums

And yet a beautiful conjugation of million creations.

Abruptly people bleed on their white paper about love

And my each part of heart works differently on each things,

One works on love and the others work on several unnecessary things.

The banyan tree standing tall opposite to me nurtures tangles like my hair strands,

And I fear if any negative shadow has stalked me on my lonely times

To feed upon my scared and bewildered body cells.

Softly, silently yet steadily I quit,

What I mean by I quit is to leave the thoughts I gathered to write this narrative!


Finishing touch is 100 feet away from me,




My fingers are numb already,

They give me several genuine chills to my spine,

I am on the verge of completing my dream

And look back to the days promising me

A beautiful betrayal swaddled in the vibrant graffiti of talkative future.

Have I won on that day?

Has anybody come to celebrate my victory?

Let's laugh, forget and pull the curtains of this scene

Before I end the chapters of this poem.

~ © storytellersuchismita


Charisma Of Paper


You write like a lost polymath,

Scratching your paper in different dimensions.

Several perspectives make you restless,

Opening the doors of precious opportunities.


Nature tucks ideas on your head,

And injects divinity to your soul.

You roam like a beguiling nomad

Finding ecstasy to promptly behold.


There is no tomorrow of repents and sorrow,

All you need is elegance and pride to borrow.

Leave no efforts undone until you succeed,

As critics will only count the faults you breed.


Your patronization for art is not artificial,

Rather you keep your heart unveiled to the paper

And perseverance comes to your scribbles.

You love, you see, you feel and you breathe.


The ink and the paper give you solace,

And it will continue to happen till the day you blend yourself in the soil.

~ © storytellersuchismita

When I Look Back


When I look back to

The past days of my life,

I see my childhood waits

In the last of a crowded row

Wading between nostalgia

And stammering innocence

With the flowers scenting memories.

I look back to the past days

Of my life when I was

A six winter old toddler,

Grabbling the vials of chocolate

Milkshake to dip in my childish tongue

And weaving warm stories

Under the blanket of December love.

I look back to the past days

Of my life when stars sipped

My aura to scintillate more

And the moon being my

Best friend ever bridged

The friendship with my heart.

I look back to the past days

Of my life when a ten year old

Innocently immature me fleeted joyously

In a merry-go-round wearing

Pink frock in the fair.

I look back to the past days

Of my life when muddy-feet

In a rain-drenched day were

My best ever game to play

On the pavement of my house.

I look back to the past days

Of my life when swinging back and forth

In a children park felt like a dream

Of touching the sky accomplished.


And this is the way I look back

To touch my memories and rub

My chest against their happiness.

But all they do is disappear like

A wilted flower in a forlorn garden

Tarnishing my soul to be a vacant one

In the blanketed verandah with darkness.

I disappear, disappear in my young body

Like a lost magician in his own show.

I scuff with an exhausted pair of feet

And my soul bids adieu until the next meet.

~ ©storytellersuchismita




SUCHISMITA GHOSHAL hails from West Bengal, India. At the very early age of 23, she has shaped her life in a way where she cuddles with literature and devotes herself into finding peace through love, compassion, learning & community service. With an academic career in science till graduation, she is currently pursuing her masters in business administration (MBA) from the renowned GD Goenka University in Gurgaon, Haryana. Besides that, she is a professional writer, published author, internationally acclaimed poet, literary critic, literary influencer, content writing member for WEST BENGAL UNITED NATIONS YOUTH ASSOCIATION, INTERNATIONAL ORGANISATION OF UNITED NATIONS VOLUNTEERS & HELPING HAND INTERNATIONAL ORGANISATION, change-activist & a nature lover. With more than 520 coveted co-authorship in various renowned national & international anthologies, prestigious literary magazines, websites, webzines and eminent literary journals, she fosters to carry forward her literary career in a more prominent way. She has also authored 3 poetry books by the name of "Fields of Sonnet", " Poetries in Quarantine" & "Emotions & Tantrums". Her poems have been translated into Arabic & Italian till now.

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