Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Surbhi Sharma, a Research Scholar at Himachal Pradesh University. She is doing research on Greek and Hindu mythology. And she has been writing poems since long. She’s keen lover of literature and language. A published poet and author. Her poems are published in The Criterion: An International Journal in English, Muse India, Literary Voice. She had also published her poems on an international platform. She authored many short stories too. She supports Feminism. She has other interests of reading and travelling. She also writes blogs and is a freelance writer.
Dear love
Sunlight drips honey through the curtain
to a terrain of our amorous seclusion.
The coziness inside this quilt soothes every
tissue inside and unravels twisted strings.
Oh! You, beloved of mine
I slowly drift in and out with every breath of thine
Bright morning light sneaking between the curtain on us
As we are locked in each other’s embrace
Our heavy breaths under the heavy quilt are foreshadowing the breath storm
As your hot breath strikes my neck, thousand ships of passion set sail at once
Oh! Love
One single thing if I ask for,
would be the tender smile, melting down from rosy lips
like a furry snow of Christmas eve.
At this sweet morning of conviviality
I gently blow a kiss to wake up from a deep slumber
I childishly count every yawn, every forced stretch in number.
But now
16 June, 8:45 am, morning
Again, I was in the kitchen, but without you
Making ‘Kahwah’ with all aloofness I hold,
Soft showers of rain outside reminds me of
our first shikara ride. When all my time was spent,
watching you and your struggle of making me comfortable
under the blue sky and splendid dal
I collected those little drops of rain in my hand as if I am
accumulating oodles of your infinite love into my small fist.
One small chinar being a bulwark of my love
old and dull, in the fresh start of this autumn,
flaking leaves as if it has also loosened all its futile
hopes to see your aged furrowed face
Love I always think standing by the window
of thatched home
what a gloominess this love has brought
shattered fragments of your caressed fervor of love
I hold, you are not just a person dwelling in my consciousness
but a feeling,
a journey wrapped in my thoughts.
SURBHI SHARMA
“Hollowed Land”
I
Hope connects people more to God
worshipping them give pleasure and
and my grandmother made me do exercise every savan,
the month of lord Shiva. I was told to wake up early, before
Sun, take a bath and also, she told strictly to cover the head
before entering to holy ambience of Gods.
I always got astonished, looking at clusters of beautifully
dressed lords and their consorts. standing next to them,
I used to draw pictures, made my fancy to come alive,
which my grandmother had recited to me every night before sleep.
In one section of that enormous pantheon,
there was an idol of lord Rama with Sita, who had also mutilated Surapnakha.
Another section was of Lord Vishnu laid peacefully on Sheshnag,
while his consort Lakshmi, I wonder! sitting on his feet,
Goddess Saraswati’s place was different to all, she sat on a lotus, floating at the center of a pond
Passing all the section I used to reach at the place of Lord Shiva
gorgeously embellished with white flowers, and green leaves,
to pour water mixed with curd, Ghee and honey,
Bestow flowers and Bael Patra on a phallic symbol of Lord Shiva.
While dad always watched gleefully from a distance.
As he also wanted to perpetuate these samskaras same like my grandfather
had implanted in him. This culture of worshiping and adoring gods, for a happy
and long life is time-honored, Grandmother used to tell to every kid she met.
but now when I’m older enough to understand the meaning of life and
significance of the things around
I do ask myself over and over again
Is this really important?
Does God is pleased by doing such practices?
My heart asks me every time
II
How much adoration and devotion
Does God want?
Why he wants to listen to his name
From the mouths of wretched people
Over and over again?
Why?
Does he pleased with all the incensory
smoldering in yajna, and his coronation with milk?
Or cherished with starving people’s sweat outside,
drains to ditches mingled with milk?
Would chanting his numerous names ceaselessly
lessen our entire burden?
Doesn’t he help those who do not believe in his powers?
Or does he punish those who are not certain of his existence?
Lots and lots of questions always bother me and my intellect everyday
Still, I’m unable to grab connotations behind drinking Gomutra, and offering
tons of milk to the mute idols
III
Last night before going to bedroom, after having dinner
my mother told me, which is also my daily routine, to switch off
all the lights starting from Veranda, to the stairs heading towards
small lobby, then to the Pooja room, whenever I enter, my eyes always get
mesmerized to see small, but beautiful stone idols of several
Gods, and two holy scriptures Ramayana, and Guru Granth Sahib,
lying adjacent to the davenport. My mother read daily few pages of both the books.
and admires them equally. As being atheist, I barely demand anything from God,
but yesterday I bowed down before switching of the lights and being
a slave of childhood’s habits, I prayed to God, of family’s wellness and my success
but at once tab my head, how silly! I said
do they really grant wishes? Or it is just an inherited practice of our dear ancestors,
to carry this legacy from one to another generation, but without asking any questions.
OUR DAUGHTER
As a part of you all I have is her
Her aura reminds me of your presence
She’s a chord
beholds the sweetness of our odyssey
She has got your nose and my curvy lips
Your smile, n I have noticed my glittering
spark in her eyes.
She has hazel eyes just like mine
Wondering! Will she share my dreams too?
Do you know she smiles in her dreams?
maybe she synthesizes her upcoming years
In our arms, shoulders, and laps
I feel her warmth is no different from you
Her soft blows remind me of the time when we two, too were kids
and back in the garden of your home
you used to blow up the cottons of dandelion and I lying on the grass
by your side to listen the harmless giggles of yours and
thine sweet fresh breath still blooms the air around.
Do you know!!
She is impatient like you and ravenous like me, but
She understands n waits for a feed,
While I adjust my shirt
She is compassionate like me n tolerant like you.
When you will see her, she will be two months old
Almost the height of a mellowed mustard plant
Do not regret of miss out the very first glance of her
You will get old, holding her hand in your wrinkled one
For now, make her sketch out of
my words unitedly written with glee
She has the warmth of sun n the calmness of a moon
She is all you and all me
SURBHI SHARMA
