Biography of Priyanka Bhowmick
Priyanka Bhowmick an amateur poet, homemaker and online freelance writer. She had been publishing her works in several online journals and ezines like Fried eye, Sketchbook, Haiku-it, A handful of Stones, Boloji, Cynic Mag, Vox Poetica, etc.
Priyanka Bhowmick's Works:
yet to come
Priyanka Bhowmick Poems
A tree, so sole, yet so familiar with all, gives shade under its branches, an intimate friend,
Call Of The Stranger
The black thick untied hair of the night, nature in its bed with soundless sleep, silence enjoying the moonless night, Depth of sleep in my eyes,
A Day Full Of Anxiety...
A day full of anxiety, my thoughts meandering around, like a kite rafting in the sky. A puff of wind in my mind inside,
she's the core love of a poet, beautiful, serene, she... but no more her beauty remains, for she's being murdered..
... In The Silent Wind
Swarming up to my spines, The lusty fingers, As I walk, In the silent wind.
A Dream Terrified
A dream terrified, have lost my sleep at night, don't know the reason why, it has captured my sight.
Here I Am
I stand on your empty paths, in times of distress and sorrow, when life turned off his face from you, to hold your bare hands,
I peep into my empty mind, where lots of dilemma together combined, thoughts that haunt me day and night, the fire that burns with a feeling of delight,
Expressions Of The Sky
Look at her, she's smiling now, when the sun emits its light, and it spreads over the sky blue.
Into the midst of the thick darkness, where no trees, no mountains can be seen, what can be seen is only black, far away towards the mountain,
It's been 10 yrs., when I last saw your face, when you looked into my eyes, the reflection of your face made me look more younger.
I Am Not A Poet
I am not a poet, Nor a philosopher, a common mass I am, just like you.
Time Before I Leave For The Sky...
the time before I leave for the sky... I want you to be by my side... explore with me round the corners of the earth... to touch the zenith, reach for the stars.
Let It Go On, Let It Move On...
Do not try to hold it in your hands, Let it go on, let it move on, For it shalt not come anymore, so Let it go on, let it move on.
The Old Man Sitting
Passing everyday through the plains,
I see a old man sitting,
Over the bench he sits,
with a stick in his hand and a ball on the other.
Know not what he thinks,
may be of some tragedy or may be some good memories.
A moment he sings, a moment he cries.
A moment he laughs thinking something nice.
And what's that ball for?