“Do the numbers speak when they are spoken to?” The ceiling bellows at dawn: Somehow tenderly as the wilderness crumbles in deep slumber. She picks up the fingers of a deft mind and pirouettes with figurative art. Archaism- her old friend from the late-night bar across the street- Sips a pint next to her onContinue reading “Portraits of Disillusion”
Author Archives: Riddhi Chakraborty
Questions by my Morning Latte
There are questions that I have scribbled on the tissue paper lying on this coffee table: Words that scrimmage with the numbers in the sealed boxes that I have built inside my head, Alongside the scaffolding and barricades that scurry past the rivers of obliterated dreams. The flowers that I pluck from the stories burrowedContinue reading “Questions by my Morning Latte”
Bharatanatyam: An Art and An Emotion
When you are five-year-old, born into a Bengali household, you are more likely than not already attending five different extra curricular classes. Needless to say, I was no exception in this case. I still remember my mother sitting me down next to her on the sofa, one fine day, to explain the significance of danceContinue reading “Bharatanatyam: An Art and An Emotion”
Old Habits
Things that happened in a second: [ he is cowering against the shadows of rusted needles- blood congealed on his scarred face, gleaming with the smouldering linen off his mother’s stole- he lights his cigarette and glowers at the pictures on the wall. face ashen from the perpetual nightmares at the church, he returns toContinue reading “Old Habits”
365 in Black and White
Not the film reel clutched in the branches of my past, But a scarred chitter of the robin at the break of dawn, Gliding across the silhouette of a day and a night- both forgotten species of the stars- And ambushing the velvet jars of moonbeams gasping for air; a speckle of a feather frightfullyContinue reading “365 in Black and White”
A Sunday Evening
( tw // suicide implied ) Here is a broken sentenceOf a broken story: The light poles across this cityWaver in the oceans beneathAnd I walk in silent steps thatResound a flaky dream.There is a girl in blue denim-Her hair deluged in saffron-Echoing my name in between musical notesAnd I dance to mellifluous memoriesBecause IContinue reading “A Sunday Evening”
Things (un)said in a Glitch
Telephone rings Hello? (static) your voice is the old bottle of wine that burns down my throat and i bite the dust in my dreams till i wake up unhinged with the wine stains on my shirt spelling out your name Hel- my hydrangeas have all wilted and conflated with the mud that smears myContinue reading “Things (un)said in a Glitch”
erratic excerpts,
i love how the silence can sing the unspoken but i shun it all for i am just a glitch in the music ~ a broken guitar string i am poetry scribbled in haste and bottled up in seashells ebbing away in waves eternally searching for the shore ~ mind’s fugitive from two worlds apartContinue reading “erratic excerpts,”
On a Train Downtown
I saw you stumble on the way to your seat on the train downtown. Your abashed giggle, your frantic look-see from pillar to post; your quick and agile steps towards your seat as you act like nothing happened, just momentarily. I saw you doze your head on the train downtown. A pencil in your handContinue reading “On a Train Downtown”
Deformation and Discombobulation
I have broken and broken down enough to be broken down forever, yet I live and live on and live a lifetime of regret and self-loathing in one day One day my pearls strewn across the table-top shoot me like daggers till my mouth bleeds of the words I should’ve spoken and the words IContinue reading “Deformation and Discombobulation”
Swan's Labyrinth 