Sikha Sengupta


Old window panes amidst a new city
I see mothers there,
Cleaning and seeking
Seeking a world outside
Dust, cars, horns and sometimes
A bit of orange pink skies
Slow walking through the street lights
I think of coriander and groceries
Like a pocket notebook
Where lost travellers scribble about
Love as a pretense of poetry
Sketching emptiness, within.
I see children here
Mud on one hand, crayons on another
Birds flying back to nests
The absurdist piano playing
Moments beneath afternoons
Afternoons and evenings.
I sew threads of a memoir
Slow breaths, long hymns
Cathedral in the eye of a stranger
For Ephesians on mundanity
I carry the clouds of summer
While there is a knock at my door, within.
I have seen the sketches of a world
A world where breaths are heavier than hymns,
I pass by the rain of a winter
A winter where poetry is warmer than love.
~~~ Sikha Sengupta is a passionate poet whose voice resonates with reasons. She studied Master of Arts in English Literature at Cotton University.

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