Tag Archives: poem

Conversations That Never Happened

Why is it that I cannot meet you, invisible mystery
Oh mademoiselle, lost in your ancient book
What is there that you ignore this handsome genie
See my skin, so soft like a makeup brush
White as milk foam I am, light and mischievous
I wait here for long, for one gentle kiss.

You keep turning pages of never-ending history.
Galloping with the brave knights of an unknown era
Until your clock says, food time, wake-up
I am hungry, I agree; I need you to fill my pot belly
Why not give me your attention, that one loving glance
I wish I were born as a cat in your novel.

Ahh, time goes on, and I have fallen in love
With those slender fingers turning pages
I wish I were a book on your lap
It’s cute; your face changes to the novel’s weather
Why not see me once, I promise
I will keep you always smiling, I promise again.

As the lovers of the world, I do give you my word
It’s uncertain, I know, but let me try it
You will never touch the book again if you hear me
Meow- a longing purr tears the woods.
I may go now, and you may never see me again.
All will be lost in seconds if only you don’t hear me.

She turns the page again, and the cat falls off the tree
And the story goes on. New characters enter
Old characters are forgotten, but the meow still lingers
In hearts that read and imagined the longing cat
Akin to our very own life, where God writes
And we witness it silently with not much ado.

Shalini Samuel

Reflected Glory

She stared at the broken mirror
and curiously felt the flakes about to be fallen off.
Her broken image is indeed
the reflection of a fragmented life.
Bemused scraps stacked boringly
bearing the warmth of a waning dusk.
Everyone who lived with her carries her broken piece
And that’s what makes their images perfect!


We wake up with this surreal disbelief
If we can survive another long day…
Like the anxiety of a blank page.

We walk with compelling iron shackles
Tied to a wooden peg, never cut loose…
Like how we become the shadow that follows.

We eat strategies and drink motivation
Not counting the lines along our face…
Like time adding another spoke to its wheel.

Aren’t we mighty enough to rise above
The settling ashes that pull us down,
Like the legendary bird born again?

Aren’t we fluid enough not to stay defined
But spread through our sunny sketches,
Like those invigorating dreams during sunrise?

Aren’t we seekers of life and beyond
Evolving through meaning derived in a flash,
Like monks lit up with moments of epiphanies?

Aren’t we the free souls of cosmos
Unaffected by time and our thoughts
Destined to bring light from a dead star?


You told me once that you have not seen war
you did not know how war smelt:
the dust of disgust accumulated,
hardened layers of dirty hatred 
that formed the bedrock of frivolous minds. 

You told me once that you have not read about war
glorified sordid stories of power retold
Stolen moments of heroes and villains
Pointless anecdotes of their pains and pleasures
that you and I fail to feel. 

Long after the war was over
and the guns grew still
wounded minds refused to heal
leaving behind the impression of futility 
and vehement lamentation of languid souls. 

Long after the war was over
and the world outside grew smaller 
you heard your shadow’s visceral voices as truth
and it was hard to see the point sometimes 
when you were at war with yourself. 

Who are You?

When you ask me, “who are you”
Do you want to know a bit more of the sand
That spread in me from the backyard
After the river overflew to hug me
but later retracted with a bit of my soul?

When you ask me, “who are you”
Do you want to know a bit more of the song
Infused in me from the coucal’s trill
After the jackals barked in the dark
Shooing the birdie with a bit of my spirit?

When you ask me, “who are you”
Do you want to know a bit more of the sky
That draped me with the endless horizon
After the grass beneath and the stars above
swelled the vastness of my cracked heart?

To fathom me is to sway with my shadow
Feel the breath of my spring, frost of my winter
get drenched in my torrential rains,
taste the nectar of my fuzzy newness
and forever be lit by the ash of my burning star.

Game of Life

On many of those winter nights
I wish to see your breath on the stained glass
imagining the warmth of ease, instead
I get the familiar instant message
explaining the shades of your chase.

Sometimes you surprise me, when
you occasionally hold my palm
that reassures the existence of a bond
and a scent of cigar enters my dream
altering the plot, for good.

Between the reality of the bright day
and the romantic dream after dark
our life sails defying the rubrics
There is no pause to this play, even
to frame a well-captured moment.


Something about this air makes me poignant
Or perhaps too familiar to be endured…
Those decades-old hollow eyes still stare at me
Elapsed past that smell of stingy rags,
Blood stains and cold logs of human bodies
Reflecting chilling horrors of the holocaust.

Something about this air smells like my home
I may be a gypsy, Jew, gay or communist
I hear marching steps pounding, looming
Mounting tension, loud weak heart throbs
Ghastly commands in the greyish-blue vicinity
And black clouds ready to bomb.

Something about this air creates the autumn of 1943
Leaves fall yellow, brown, dreary and dry
The cries of the camp prisoners go silent
My parched pink lips unable to pray
Wonder where the God fled, allowing
To wipe a nation’s history, hearts and hope.

Something about this air near the ashen memorial
Cries out loud the unheard stories of the souls of sorrow
Of my wounded homeland and shattered dreams.
As I let myself blend with the background
The church bells ring in melancholic unison
Orchestrating the slides of a miserable memoir.
Setting: An autumn of 1943, during holocaust in Germany.


Wait, before you turn my blood blue,
I hear him…
Or was that you gently rubbing your slithery skin on my silk?
Black beauty! Bite into my bleak body
Through my skin, my shadow, my spirit, my soul!
The wild dance has begun!
Your chilliness against my warmth
The entangled helix, tightening
Mysterious madness sweeping my skin
Flashing deep pain
Brightness… Blindness…
I lose myself…
I set my thoughts free
from those existential clutches
I shade my dreams with lively hues
I hear your heart;
I hear secrets;
I hear questions;
My life is the answer!


© Suma K Gopal

Amber Eyes

Amber Eyes

You told me once that my eyes pierced your heart
I didn’t wait to ask you how deep
I didn’t know that it cut and bled
But on a dark cloudy evening
When I lay naked with an unfulfilled dull ache
I noticed the bruise on my bust
Distinctly spread like your face.
Are you still there where I left…?
When the way of the world was weird!
You didn’t ask me why
Nor did I see the lovelight in your eyes
When your kisses caressed my hair
The breeze under the banyan tree misled me
Tapping gently on my nape
Thoughts about you make me less composed
And this obscure bruise and unhealed wounds
Make me pale under the blood red moon
Will you kiss my famishing torso?
And turn me sanguine in a trice
I would then lie in lulling languor
Weaving whimsical stained glass dreams
I keep my fane emptied and open
Fragrant fumes of incense inviting
When all are gone that now linger
And the only slaver is the delicate dust
Will you come as a respiting embrace?
To kindle my timorous lips with a song
Sung by the secret prophet of time
For, age hasn’t doused my amber eyes
Nor the flames of my soul!

© Suma K Gopal

A whiff of the past…

Some aromas give you
A whiff of the past;
And you breathe in,
A part of your own yesterdays,
Like forgotten melodies rippling away
To faded pages
Of a yellowed diary.

Last day, the scent of turmeric
Took me with absolute ease-
To a pampered childhood-
Of healed bruises-
It showed me a serene face
With a sparkling nosepin
And a purple kumkum
And wrinkled palms with rough fingers-
Adept at hardwork-
Tending to my wounds.

I reminded myself that the earth, in fact, had gulped down her soul-
And I wondered if she had left parts of herself here with me-
Probably her best ones.