Poetry 2018 Longlist, Nimisha Bissa


I am writing a book,

that would glorify the songs of blue

and sing praises of the daily heroic humdrums that I valiantly triumphed through,

A book that would lionize the obscure walks I took like the moon walking towards its eclipse

and celebrate the pages of remarkable sunsets when no rain could quench the thirst of the somber lips.


I am writing a book,

that would dedicate odes to the setting sun

and to those stranded quests for the hearts of stars at the loss of a loved one,

That would not make me feel miserable for the choices I accepted but never made

and would put me on a pedestal for that melancholy smile, I so beautifully masquerade.


I am writing a book,

that would contain tragedies in pages I would want to tear off, but will not

for when I look back to the finished stories I would realize that this memoir is mine, and those half-written characters were so paralyzed to have shaped my final plot,

That would underline the days when it was scorching heat with no signs of a cool veil, and I would come home fragile and frail with a face, deadpan

that would hymn pivotal feats when I did not need the cape to be a Superman.


I am writing a book,

and it will not contain references of stalwart triumphs and passionate conquests

but would present stories where the tears run dry and eyes go sore seeking success,

It would trail answers for questions unsought

and would rather end on a sad note.



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