Cascade of poems and Rivulets of fiction

The limitless sky is an umbrella, Under which we breathe, To redefine our thoughts, Indefinite and boundless, A macrocosm belonging to all. The trees are awake, The boughs of bougainvillea, Laden with papery pink flowers, Sing with joy, In harmony with the rhythm, With which the wind blows, Without fear and care. Secured in the arms of unending blue, Bougainvillea relishes freedom, The clouds are its friends, Quenching its thirst, In happiness an earthy fragrance emits, Soothing souls; big and small. The little squirrel soaking warmth, In leisure under the blue umbrella, The blooms of the resplendent bougainvillea seem to hug him, In peace he slowly leaves, Scurrying for nuts to live, A dishevelled woman, Shattered with grief, Walking as if in trance, Stopped by chance, The boughs of bougainvillea, laden with mesmeric pink, Paint her chipped window, She looks up to find the infinite sky, Promising her a refuge, Imploring her to rise and fi

Little child in me remember the Phantom, Muscular and masked, Penetrating eyes, Outwitting the enemies in a flash, Reading with bated breath, The extraordinary feat of his, Here I am glued to the screen, Phantoms running and scaling heights, Crawling with creepers around, With little care for venom and blood, Twisting and turning with the rope around, Leaping into the fire with a laugh, Trigger happy fingers are, Shooting with eagle eye, Felling foes in a trice, Tackling disasters with astute mind, Tracing cries ridden with grief, Pulling hands into the copters, Rushing stretchers to the doctors', Food and water for sinking bellies, Quenching thirst as a reminder, Life has indeed defeated death, Droplets of toil trickle down, Day in day out, Here we sit tight, In a lounge with cigar and wine, Debating ardently, 'Do we have democracy'? 'Do we have freedom of speech'? Tears cloud, Freedom

Painting by Sejuti Biswas Dark whispers were they, Claustrophobia simmers within, Redundant and desolate, A faraway look against a broken backdrop, Deliberating; Why the dark whispers? A distant voice calls. Look at the reddish orange hue, Spreading across the sky, Look at the sparkle of turquoise, Flowing unperturbed, Look at the seagull, Basking in the glory of its elevation, Look at the dewdrops on the leaves, Trickling down in harmony with the breeze, Look at the corals underneath, A shoal of butterfly fish goes by, Look at the light house standing, Undeterred, unfazed a gainst the waves, At times, crashing in fury during gale and hail. Dark whispers recede when the beam of light, Cascade through the broken backdrop, Mending with finesse, I walk along the beach with the waves caressing my feet, A few wisps of hair playing across my face, I sit still, the daybreak has dawned.

Facing the wrath of the blazing Sun, She; with her tangled hair, gummy smile,  deeply lined face, In a coarse cotton and tattered bag, Walks through the lofty gates of a mansion, A fine blend of art, wealth and grandeur. With agility and honesty , She serves the Lady, Sharing sometimes are joys, Many a time her sorrows, Her struggles in the war of 1971, Leaving behind the riches, Crossing over from known to unknown, In search of a stable home. Everyday, from afar the lady looks, Immersed She in her own world, Creating tales on a shiny poplin, With figures of different hues and views. Tending, at times, the unwanted creepers, Running ,every time, to look after her frail, old mother. Then, there was a day, Tears trickling down the face, Wetted the unfamiliar elephant. On a piece of grey, The Lady prodded. Felt her pain, Gifted her a pair of specs. One fine morning, She tip-toed towards the Lady, With a colour