Anshu Choudhry holds degrees of Masters Level in Mathematics and English. She is based in New Delhi, India and works for the Government. Her poems and short stories have appeared in Kritya Journal, FullofCrow, Muse India, EastLit Journal, Hans India, Setu Journal, Silver Birch Press, Indiana Voice Journal, Ariel Chart and anthologies amongst others.
She told me there were worlds. And showed me the cities. The villages. The wastelands. The jungles. The temples. The rules of Religions-- I wondered
apostate, infidel--- at each word, each turn of the page and lived with that neighbour, in his house and hers too. In his mind and hers too. The one yellow brittle body. The one
who suffered and the one who harmed but they both loved m e. Or so, I was sure, in my anonymity. Their names remain etched in memory, in births—the same as the pious
grandmother, the villainous uncle or the indifferent father. Sometimes, mother too, learnt of them only to realise she knew them all too well. They only borrowed
time and came alive, each time, I opened the paper caskets, filling me. With the pride of power, lent by their immortality. Then they shared their secret—across borders, beyond
seas, the hearts beat with the same rhythm and die by the same curse—To be so serious in love, is a dalliance with cataclysm. And a friend
will only listen and say no more …….But I want advice. To mend my heart---each shattered piece, a glass splinter that mirrors all that I see, in her, all that she shows
are those pieces ever since I lived and ever after I die a thousand deaths---I will remain alive in the papyrus arms of my friend---the book that I read now and forever.
The Death of A Stalker
If this is true, then; is it the season of wishes to bloom? Flowers can be thorns of death. If this is what and how I was meant to be the fruit of revenge, fallen ripe and full? Wild berries, reckless and temerarious bitter as the poisons of hate. Is it true then the overdoses killed you? Love, the obtrusively toxic, obstreperous whore. It stalked you day and night for a score and half decade. While you wallowed and splashed around in that pool, bitter, poisonous and deadly, your future soaked in the inflammable oils, wondering at the dry past of a wasteland chased. Limbs tired and aching, caramelised in your obsession, a leap across impossible and you at the other end---unapproachable, unreachable, unavailable even after all bonds released your tormented soul. And I, free at last wonder----if this is true that I have woken up from a nightmare ?
Of Fairy Tales (tails) and Evil Eyes(Is)
They live in the nights and dissolve, their spherical coffins radiating rainbows, the colours of their blood, their frozen breaths the fragrance of the morning. I go past their infinities on tables, chairs behind wheels, dashboards, windscreens, cross over riding on the sharp blinding beams of the killer sun, hoisted the Azazel bait. The present boat floats over marshy turbidity. Nothing is clear in the homogenous aquarium dirty with stasis. They swim and splash without effect, their movements caught and sealed in the lenses of evil eyes. Their undulating tails but whip up tales and they spread the ripples. Echoes of a rumoured future call out before I………….. disappear in the light of the day.