Tuesday, 25 December 2018

Poetry 2018, Featured Poet, Nimisha Bissa

My Story

I am writing a book,
that would glorify the songs of blue
and sing praises of the daily heroic humdrums
that I valiantly triumphed through,
A book that would lionize the obscure walks I took
like the moon walking towards its eclipse
and celebrate the pages of remarkable sunsets
when no rain could quench the thirst of the somber lips.

I am writing a book,
that would dedicate odes to the setting sun
and to those stranded quests for the hearts
of stars at the loss of a loved one,
That would not make me feel miserable
for the choices I accepted but never made
and would put me on a pedestal for that melancholy smile,
I so beautifully masquerade.

I am writing a book,
that would contain tragedies in pages
I would want to tear off, but will not
for when I look back to the finished stories
I would realize that this memoir is mine,
and those half-written characters were so paralyzed to have shaped my final plot,
That would underline the days when it was scorching heat
with no signs of a cool veil, and...
I would come home fragile and frail with a face, deadpan
that would hymn pivotal feats when I did not need the cape to be a Superman.

I am writing a book,
and it will not contain references of stalwart triumphs and passionate conquests
but would present stories where the tears run dry and eyes go sore seeking success,
It would trail answers for questions unsought
and would rather end on a sad note.

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