Poetry 2018 Longlist, Ananya S Guha

Vision Besotted

There is the looming large
the surreptitious barge
the heavy heart
the nose’s wart
all this is human
can’t you see ?
in mythic vision
all that is lost

I have found time
in the runaway ghetto
or, in the monastery
or in the prayer of hope
crushed in wheels of death

Who says everything is fine?
It is the blood that counts
in the circa of hope
a heart beating
an animal- bleating

Who says? who says?
calumny is fraud?
what is not is the blunted
hope, of the disgruntled;
and, the inner eye,
of a vision besotted.

Runaway Time

Now is the runaway time
the  clock ticking in hubris
the violent become pacific
the pacific incognito
shining luminous lights
of  war scarred oppression.
Blood, let there be
may we
may we
Pray. Die.
The luminous lights fade
Blood is slowly, taking over
man or animal.

Still Alive

I have opted out of  this
battle  of  glut
rut, or falling into it
a trap waylaid into
corners spiked by
opulent  dreams.
And, ex- gratis payment
So many dead
So many still alive!

A Poem

It is time that is
apiece on
a mantle piece
shards of time
knotted in sanguinary
mythic places,
that is history
winding into infinite
spaces, the bard
has no time for reflection

annulled by timelessness
genuflection of
a poem stares into the future.

Grandmother’s House

Grandmother’s house
was mimetic
earthly wonder
where a ruffian
painted dreams
across sky blues
amidst haranguing cows
and a pond –
to whet the dreams.

Now I have reached
an age
play truant with
these dreams.

Grandmother’s house
is the rustling wind
the frothing pond

the grey hairs of wit
infantile puberty.
Accolades of hope.
Brainstorming, groping
in dark.

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