DEEYA BHATTACHARYA - POEMS

Born at Durgapur, West Bengal, Deeya Bhattacharya - a PG in English Literature and a Graduate in Education from the University of Burdwan. Her poems and articles have appeared in several National and International journals, websites, E-zine, besides several anthologies. Member of Poets International, Life Member of Tagore’s Nikhil Bharat Bangya Sahitya Sanmelan and CONTEMPORARY VIBES  (CHANDIGARH). She has read her poetry at quite a few fests. She teaches English and Poetry at a State Government High School.

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                                                               An Ekphrasis

She sleeps in Autumnal beauty
oh look! Her hairs a toast to the plumage
her skin a chiseled golden honey
she sleeps in a valley
of morbidness
her slip, trance a mystery 
against a backdrop of neutral tones
she harbours innocence
a glance in a once, she stole
 
She sleeps in what hidden passion
one not knows
beneath her chin, a little bit
the colour ashen grows
 
She sleeps intense
her ochre hairs
encircle the womb of earth
cherubian beauty engraved
upon her livid pallors
constitute the Fall in dearth
 
Baby birds nestle against
her lucid skin
the tawny moon, a pale orb
illuminates the backdrop
and a cluster of stars decked
in a string of pearls
in refulgence crop
 
Unmindfully, the Diana
sleeps;
halo encircled ………………
while the hunter stalks his prey
the stag, hyena, cheetah
in array, she knows not
‘ coz her sleep easeful as the
strokes petite……… of a painter
prowess testifies.
 

                                 An Intriguing Face


For how many hundreds of centuries
have I not seen
the image of your face
 nor searched for it
 
The search for the face
by the dust-settled window panes
in the gold rimmed orb
of the scorching sun, went on
the flittering gaze
of a blue-bottle fly like
 from here to there
 
The aroma in those
lost tragedies, over-arched
in rainbow-hued glass panes
surprisingly, short lived
raw mangoes in oil like
sharp and salty with a twang
 
Those memories never rested
from toil-sauntering in
the brisk sun-adding to the
plight of an incessant thirst.  
 

                                   Hunger in the Night


The night in our garden
is intense but fragile
the misty moon atop the dew
ceaselessly flows into each other
 
The night in our garden
is full of longing
sucking up the vortex of thoughts
flowing like river
 
The river in our garden
is full of silky fragrance
severed like cubes of ice
perch on our hunger
 
The hunger of the wind
on moss, ferns and potted plants
the hunger
in tales of lost love
 
On hungry nights like these
in our lit-up porches
we cook consciousness
which bind our thoughts
to skin and sylvan pitfalls.
 

                                     Midnight Blues

The circles
under  your eyes
burn like midnight blues
under water currents
check the flow of dunes
shifting in your eyes
 
long black lashes
so poignant, at times
brush strokes of a maddening hand
guileless now
but discreet; like
the midnight strokes
of a prolific act.
 

                                             Shaping a Poem

​Words inky spelt all over
the diaphanous page
of a crumbled notebook
 
signs in blue , black, red
cryptic gestures like
creeping, crawling
wilted like a withered shrub
 
the shrubs of  ignorance
which I try to bury
under my pillows of
many insomniac nights
 
they haunt on me still
till I rearrange them
into an essay of quietitude.