Lovelorn

 All my ideas keep stacking up 

In the trash bin scribbled and torn, 

All my days pass whirling by, 

In your thoughts, lovelorn. 

Woke up in the morning, 

Ready to go back to sleep. 

Laughed through the day 

Ignoring emotions that run deep.

Then the night reflects on my soul 

Like a mirror of the truth, it beholds 

And I know I cannot run, 

I cannot hide, can't act stubborn: 

One day, I have to stop and turn, 

Reflect upon the past and learn; 

A passion for love in my heart will be born, 

A Love that transcends space and time, 

A Love that remains beyond a lifetime. 

Ready to write a new story now, 

Not one that is full of fake show; 

Like a warrior not afraid of scars anymore, 

Brave enough that I have travelled so far, 

Ready to love this time around.

~ Suranya

The Taj Witnesses

The evening sun was as red as vermilion, reflecting upon the white marble of the Taj. Janni sat in prayer, in silence and fear. He stared at her prayer with a faint smile. Today was probably the beginning of a journey to forever. From the moment she dared to lift her veil and stare him in the eyes, Chhatrasal knew something had changed. Hearts transformed. He was leaving for a war, both knew was a lost cause. Yet a hope in their heart refused to go. For as the moon made its way to wipe away the red hues over the white marble, making the Taj shine like a diamond drop, he had held her hand and promised to wait for her on the other side. She had smiled in her tears, promising him the same. The other side was uncertain. Unexplored. Yet, he was not scared. For he knew that there, they were just two souls, beyond name and identity, not a king, princess, religion, caste or creed. They were equal and one. The Almighty didn't judge his children. For their love for each other. It would perhaps be the end of their story here, but it was the beginning of an eternity for the lovers. Because it was their first day of love vows and togetherness. Beyond the norms set by society that separated them, Hands entwined, in between tears, smiles and silences, the Taj witnessed a love, perhaps greater than what it stood for.

© Suranya

Dear Stranger

 Dear Stranger in my dreams,

I have travelled to thoughts extreme,

And places I have never been,

In search of You.

A key in my hand, I struggle to find locks,

A lock in sight, I lose the key I have.

I know not where to find You

So here I am waiting for You

To find me.

~ Suranya

Perspective

 Once in a Universe of parallel time, 

Was a human, appreciating the sky.

On the tree beside them, chirped a bird;

Looking out for prey was a puppy, 

Near the water, not very far.

From the water, a fish poked their nose out,

Thus began a conversation

That led to no solution.

"I can see the sky 

From where I lie," 

Smiled the human, 

"In simple shades of blue and white.

Perhaps a dusk in pink, 

A dawn in red, 

Or a yellow flicker of light."

"I can see the sky from where I stand"

The bird chirped in glee, 

"It's a shade of royal purple, 

Can't you see?"

"My sky is blue and yellow"

The puppy woofed, 

"Loyal I am, not a liar. 

Why can't you see what I see?"

"I live in the water, blurred all around,"

The fish popped in, 

"Black and white, with bubbling sounds, 

I see no colour in the sky or me, 

How can I be the silver you see? 

Why do you lie to me that way? 

My world isn't what you tell it to be"

They started an argument that went on for days, 

Agitated, animated, they refused to give up and stayed, 

Gathered a few of their own along, 

To make their point stronger.

Sapiens, Aviaries, Canines and Pisces, 

None could reach an inference.

One called another blind, 

While they called another ignorant.

Knowledge and Awareness laughed from a distance, 

Watching the world fight each other this way, 

For they had never met their dear friend, Perception

Who could perhaps have agreed with all of them.

~ Suranya

Quarantined Kolkata

It seems like a long time ago that my city was alive and well. Blue buses were plying on the busy roads, and children in uniforms were running down the pavements with bags on their backs. Trees stood tall, and tridents decorated the streets. The office "para" smelled of freshly made tea, cigarettes and momos and the malls were frequented by groups of Aunties, shopping for some festivities. Kumartuli, the artists' paradise of idols. The food courts were filled with the laughter of friends and families meeting over the weekend evenings. The parks witnessed couples in love and quarrels; restaurants buzzed with activities and the aroma of delicacies waiting to be served. Jorasako and Netaji Bhavan stand witness to a glorious past. The traffic snarled, and Park Street was frequented by food lovers.

Often on weekends, friends reunite over coffee and drinks to vent out their week-long work pressure. The street markets and hawkers' calls attracted the passerby's attention. The fresh air by the Princep Ghat prompted many to sit staring at the sunset for a long time. Every celebration, big or small, made us crave for some Ledikeni or Chomchom, and the Phuchka kaku smiled at our frequent visits for a free one after a competition of street snacks. My city was always hosting film festivals, fairs and shows, and people discussed politics in between the sips of coffee at the Indian Coffee House. Victoria and Rabindra Sarovar were lovers' paradise, and in some corner of North Kolkata, people adjusted their camera lenses to capture the idea of Kolkata in people's minds to show to the world. Not a very long time ago, my city was alive.

In a corner of the silent library behind stacks of books, I would sit for hours, without my phone and often stare outside at the large Royal Ponchiana filled with red blooms. The smell of old books brought a sense of calm to my heart.

Yet today this seems like a distant dream. A hope to get back to. Today, as I walk through the empty roads, all I see are scared faces carefully maintaining distances, masks covering faces, not a bus in sight, and the city is doomed in silence. The storm shook the city to its roots, and trees and poles are still lying around discarded by the sides of the road. All major crowd-pulling attractions wear an expected deserted look and stand like ghostly shadows of their past glory. I feel like a piece of the soul of my city is gone. A piece of me seems to be lost with it. The piece that could enjoy a sunset and feel the breeze. The piece that could frequent cafes with a book in hand. The piece that counted days for Durga Pujo. And the piece that knew that the world, even in between all the mess, wasn't a bad place after all.

I don't know that anymore. I don't recognise this place anymore. You know when someone you thought you knew all along becomes a stranger in a moment, and you feel like you never knew them? My city has become that way for me in the past few months.

There is fear, uncertainty and helplessness in the air. It seems to suffocate our minds and souls. And my city of "joy" is drowning in its silence. Every single day.

~ Suranya

Problems

 Here we are in distress

Our life is an entangled mess. 

With enough problems and scars

To last a lifetime, in this farce.

Yes, the problems are indeed large. 

Too big for your heart or mind to adjust.

But not enough to not be kind, 

Not be tolerant or united.

Understand that others also have issues.

Maybe just not in similar lines.

Whose problem is greater?

Whose life is tougher?

Who are we to decide?

Your problems can be big enough. 

But you can't compare it to others.

Let's be compassionate enough, 

And promise not to say

"My problem is bigger than yours anyway."

If "sharing is caring" makes life easier 

There is no harm in accepting 

Other lives can also be messier!

~ Suranya

Last Note

 If tomorrow starts without me, 

Just let the good memories be.

Remember the summer afternoons and ice lollies, 

The winter picnic and folly.

Autumn in all its colourful glory, 

Spring is setting in slowly.

Remember the days in the school lanes, 

Or the college canteen and guitar strings;

That day you smiled at me in a crowd, 

Or held my hand without a doubt.

But here we are, at a crossroads;

My heart and mind are in a mess, 

Each day I sink into darkness.

Drown in the sea of desires

Waves of expectation and dreamy chase, 

Consuming me bit by bit in stress.

Remember me for the happiest times, 

Not the bags under my eyes or sleepless nights.

Remember me for my laughter, 

Not the pain I unwillingly suffered.

~ Suranya

Displaced

 I have no home, 

No Identity of my own. 

No country, no wealth 

No place to belong.

Just numbers and religion, 

Tagged in my being, 

My existence in question, 

Vague as it may seem.

Forced, tortured, uprooted, 

Placed in a camp 

Displaced and lost, 

In life and cause; 

No job, no hope

No reason to live when old 

Questioned and taunted, 

Pawn of politics, 

I am another Refugee.

~ Suranya

Stories

 Cave Paintings, Papyrus, Leaves

Stone seals from the Indus,

Paper scribbles, wood, ink in a pot,

Stories of the Past, present and future,

Stories that have been told before.

And shall be told yet again.

Of Might, Greed, Chivalry and Romance;

Love, Lust, Bravery and Treason.

Lessons Learnt, Characters dicovered,

Cvilisation gone, relics unearthened

Yet, every time you repeat a loop,

Of Vicious circle of mistakes

And nod your head to say,

"History repeats itself."

~ Suranya

Oppressed

You look at me like a criminal, 

An alienated black sheep in your elite society. 

Because of your own prejudice and thoughts.

My colour, my sexuality or perhaps my religion

Pose a threat to your intolerant heart. 

Trapped in my skin, my faith and my orientation.

A storm bottles up and brews in me.

Oppressed, suppressed and hurt, 

Time and again, rejected by you from the start,

There are times I say, Enough!

I rise as a rebellion in your system, 

Your crippled rules end up in chaos. 

But soon the storm in me dies down.

Tired and screaming in silence 

Where none can hear me speak.

I go back under your feet, 

While you smile in victory, 

Sucking the breath out of me, 

Oh, I can't breathe!

~SURANYA