Bridge to Global Literature

Let’s all remember that more and more poetry gets lost without earnest attempts at translation.Read poetry here to get a glimpse of the rhythms and resonances of languages you don’t know.

Anjali Jagya

Nov 22, 2020 | Poetry | 2 comments

Diurnal Delirium

Your mouth,
Is filled with the never ending sky,
Quenching your thirst of divinity from
My heart’s sycamore, on a mountain top,
Behind your sternum, beneath the collar bone.

Denuded of gaiety, I’m fastened
to my bed, The winds tracing your nose,
Malaise dripping off into scattered clothes;
Forgetting our roots, you decided to part ways,
I said, I won’t follow, Not that I mind, anyway.

I took the half eaten lavender skyline,
And cut the world into two,
One I kept, and the other leaves with you.
Two months and an hour away
From the city, I will see you.

Your chest holding my spine
Like a beloved, into the web
Of prattle which we knit; listening,
Through the brown of your mother’s eyes;
Running from and into routing alibi.

You sang me an unsung lullaby,
With Hephaestus carved lips or
Sappho’s lyre, pitch on; slowly,
The gates of paradise blurred;
Dear cat cried its ninth cry.

And,
My phone made one of those noise,
As if, bee with hernia and laryngitis,
Squalling against my earhole;
Seeded a riptide to my sleep.

I struggled to fall back into slumber,
Desperate to live in that Dream.

__

Ferocious Fire

I

Gulping the serenity of god at sight,
A soft blurred hand, fracturing sunlight.

Gold gushing winds, and heaps of snow, oh so entrancing,
The beauty of pale death, I exhale a short sharp breath

A grey torn kite, tussling against the turbulent winds,
Lower, lower: Could be one of my phantasmic dreams

Daddy, daddy, dadda! bawling at some forsaken train,
With his blood stuck as rainbow shards to my chaste brain

Wakening on a serrated wire, Greeted a love too devout,
Building centuries up, Tearing each other down

Still and cold, dead and bereft, On a cliff, at the edge,
My dignity: Leave, leaving, already left

Elegiac I, ventured onto heaven and never looked back,
To Orpheus’ surprise, still couldn’t hold you on track.

II

Now answer, unclad of skin and bone what are we,
A sullen heart, two maybe, Three! Said He

A lone balloon, Midnight reflections, wasted poetry,
A runaway bride, malignant fumes, loving off of paper,

One on flesh, but mile away from molding a ring,
Two paralleled ends of a drawstring, We

Quivered from the chilling silence, finding refuge in
Pubs and Clubs with crowds, wrapping my existence

Of strange men, of ubiquitous wax hands, Crawling,
Within my hollowed bones, into your ephemeral home

Back pinned to satin silk, Knuckles against bare skin,
There and not here: strange, stranger, distant.

III

An unceremonious thunder, Sweet home left in wrecks,
Revulsion and rage, Gagging the small of my neck

With teeth made of steel, and claws of brass,
My heart pounding hard, upon a thick wall of glass.

Blue water of ocean dried, with half burned cigarette ashes,
Splitting an oblivion, Under dark fledged eyelashes

Jittery hands, a surreal pang, Frantically tried to look around,
Bottled up sadness, a bottle of wine, your eyes, drowned, I

Called out your name with a desperate plea,
Oh! How I wish, I cease to be.

Anjali Jagya

Anjali Jagya

Anjali Jagya is a final year student pursuing English Honors at Delhi University. She initially started writing to come out of a dark place but then took to abstractions for expressing herself. She currently writes on her blog.

2 Comments

  1. Geeta Bageja

    Excellent job keep up the good work ??

    Reply
  2. Gautam Khanduja

    Excellent Work

    Reply

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