On days like this
when the weather forecast’s prediction
deflects and moves over to a neighbouring land; leaving behind sheets of rain,
the morning turns lazy; curled up in home,
watching the greens in the verandah become
lustrous, shiny,
crystal drops hanging from their tips
bearing the weight of loss; of a world that is always on a move.

A whole day stretches and yawns
doodles haphazardly – dark lines on white white paper
The face on the scribbling pad resembles the one in the mirror.
An apostrophe hangs in disbelief.
A blue veined grief runs across from one face to the other.
A fake Frieda Kahlo stares back from the shelf.
A lover’s loss flaps its wings  on the window sill.

By late afternoon, a slice of the sky peeps
into the room.
The rainwashed city is a minstrel,
singing songs of memory that has meandered and lost its track in the quagmire.
No poems, no letters, no dates, no address linger as residue,
only the tingling of pain,
as a lone crow flies against a white white sky.

Mallika Bhaumik was nominated for the Pushcart Prize for Poetry in 2019. She has authored two poetry books, Echoespublished by Authorspress and How not to remember by Hawakal Publishers. Her poems, short stories, essays and articles have been widely published in mags like Shot Glass Journal, Grey Sparrow Journal, Mad Swirl, Cafe Dissensus, Madras Courier, Dhaka Tribune, Outlookindia, The Punch Magazine to name a few. Some of her poems are part of Post Graduate syllabus in BBMK University, Dhanbad. She lives and writes from Kolkata.