Page 8 - Reflectoem | Issue 04
P. 8

T H E   G R E Y

                                                                                   Sudipta  Chowdhury  from  India,
        I N F I N I T Y                                                            holds  a  Postgraduate  degree  in
                                                                                   Economics.  Currently  pursuing
                                                                                   Bachelor  of  laws.  She  is  an  avid
                                                                                   reader  and  loves  writing  poems
                                                                                   and  articles  on  human  behaviour
                                                                                   and  core  issues.  Her  poems  have
                                                                                   been  published  in  various  web
                                                                                   magazines,   media   portal   and
        S   U    D    I  P   T   A                                                 literary  journal  of  national  and
                                                                                   international recognition.

        C    H    O    W      D    H    U    R   Y

           You, the surreptitious verse of moon,
           Flare up my passion when the clock struck twelve,
           Facilely incarcerated my petals in your crevasses
           With the alchemy of your warm blood.
           Where the prismatic hues of your curvature
           Blazing on the skin of winter leaves,
           I yen for toasting myself in the wee hours,
           Ruminating on the ebb and flow of the Neptune.
           The cascade of chords weaves in my rib
           Snuggling me under the elfin quilt,

           You kindle my navel to burn up in your dreamboat
           With your plushy passionate flamboyant wick.
           But somewhere in my aching core,
           I couldn't allow myself to see you
           Precipitating on my plebeian trajectory,
           Festooning your satin contour with my oafish floss
           For, I, the deadbeat, the joe of rayless world
           Where my third eye is the only boon
           To have your purple peep in my dark window.
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