Author: Monalisa Dash Dwibedy
Poetry
Life is a mirror
In shadows of light, there lived a lane
They say every lane tells its own
story, so does the stone.
I picked a single bloom from a flower store,
a gift for a Srilakan woman, we call her Rosalin.
Two men who have never
spoken to each other begin a conversation in hospital bed
Even when the foggy mind battles the wind,
being in the same space can get you new friends.
I remember how you like to surprise me , each time with a new aromatic dish.
How once the door was closed but now it's open. To everything.
I stare at my dry hands, red from over-washing
and wonder how I have become what I am today.
Why the long arc of history keeps bending in the wrong direction
You take a hard look at the mirror,
Clouds drag long black wavy silences
We are Brahmins, Hindu upper caste, God will save us from Covid, you told me one day.<...
Life is a mirror
In shadows of light, there lived a lane
They say every lane tells its own
story, so does the stone.
I picked a single bloom from a flower store,
a gift for a Srilakan woman, we call her Rosalin.
Two men who have never
spoken to each other begin a conversation in hospital bed
Even when the foggy mind battles the wind,
being in the same space can get you new friends.
I remember how you like to surprise me , each time with a new aromatic dish.
How once the door was closed but now it's open. To everything.
I stare at my dry hands, red from over-washing
and wonder how I have become what I am today.
Why the long arc of history keeps bending in the wrong direction
You take a hard look at the mirror,
Clouds drag long black wavy silences
We are Brahmins, Hindu upper caste, God will save us from Covid, you told me one day.<...