Swatimalya Chattopadhyay


On the canvas of my memories
I delineate sketches
Fill them with colours
And portray different images.

Emerges an assortment
Of my life sketches,
Dating back to the days
When I was a lass,
Faced strictures of Mom
But got indulged by Dad.

My wide angle lens captures me
At different junctures
Giggles of a child, bedecked in a school uniform,
Bickering with my little sister,
Again hug her warm.

Brush paints the blush of a bride
When she steps on the threshold of a new life
Entwined with another family,
She dispenses with her surname,
In lieu of her father
Spouse becomes the guardian.

In my profession
I view myself as an engineer
Walking through the shop floor
Flanked with superiors, subordinates and peers.

At 50’s amidst worries
Of uncertain future,
Grappled with fear of death,
Links of chains
Made of kith and kin
Get debilitated.

I reflect
Bereft of the blood on my face
An inane look gets outstretched.

How many turns the globe revolved
To make me reach “today”?
How many spins it made on its axis
For me to inhale air of this day?

Can’t the momentum cease for a while
And terminate my age?
I request the globe
To take a reverse turn
And get me back
My olden, golden days.

Poem Submitted: Monday, May 27, 2013
Poem Edited: Friday, September 6, 2013

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