Saturday 1 August 2020

Paromita Mukherjee Ojha, Poetry 2020 Longlist


Is that my face all over the news channel?
I look vacuously at the television panel
The walls of the hospital room –my prismatic prism
Witnesses now my apocalyptic stoicism
I shift on the bed to hear my travesty rewound minutely
That little voice inside my head whispers morosely
Why bother! You have heard it all before
Acquaintances old and new are now claiming to experience a déjà vu
Through my singed skin they are staking kinship with me anew
All ghosts from present and past reappearing on screen
While I am coping with the trauma of a face wiped clean
These ghosts are ticking off a list of who’s the possible attacker
What motive he had to be my beauty’s marauder!
They are endlessly blogging and logging my pain
Through twittering my face they are laying claim to instant fame
Encashing on my pain has become the new norm
Comparison is rampant of my old and new form
My soul crumples and withers a little everyday
My life has reached its cul-de-sac
My once colorful world Is smothered in shades of black
Should I drown in mire or open my soul a crack?
I pay heed to the voice in my head
My soul decides to arise from the dead
I volte-face and choose a new path to tread
Through my life I would now provide a numinous shade
To all victims of mindless acid attacks
I will extoll hope to rise through their soul’s cracks
I know strength of mind is all
That is required to claim our destinies back.

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