In quarantine

it isn’t so much about
why I never see you
or hear from you
that I piece together
truncated meetings,
disconnected texts
to create a long future
of seamless togetherness
it’s my naïve adoration of
your masculine remoteness
bewitching, snaring
hypnotising, implicit belief
of one soul in two bodies
roaming in an un-lived house
the roof is all soft,
pastel-coloured
I am all alone, pining
I let my tongue run on
the fuchsia walls, carnations
in window-sills, delightful
to every sense, strawberry lips
bleeding profusely-
its celestial home, if not home
full of roses, I pick
a long thorny stem
the sky in the west is broken
by the faint light, I scribble
‘I love you,’
on red-hued clouds, whispering
‘come home.’

Hindi Story Collection

‘कुछ आपबीती कुछ जगबीती’ अब Amazon पर भी उपलब्ध है! जल्द ऑर्डर करें-

Genre- कहानी संग्रह

Author – अनुमिता शर्मा

प्रकाशक – भारतीय ज्ञानपीठ

https://www.amazon.in/kuchha-apbiti-jagabiti-anumita-sharma/dp/9387919765/ref=mp_s_a_1_2?qid=1584166937&refinements=p_27%3AAnumita+Sharma&s=books&sr=1-2

New Book

My third book; first in Hindi, a story collection titled ‘Kuch Aapbeeti Kuch Jagbeeti’ ( कुछ आपबीती कुछ जगबीती ) published by Bharatiya Jnanpith ( भारतीय ज्ञानपीठ ) was launched in the International Book Fair at Pragati Maidan, New Delhi on 10th January 2020. The book will be available online and in book stores shortly.

Meanwhile, mail at sales@jnanpith.net to order a copy!  

Spring Song

of all this long life only one event seems real
touched and kissed entwined in your embrace
there were things I wished you would say, in your
lovemaking all burning questions sank, unwritten
melodies nestled on my lips; slightly off-cue
I dare not catalog their rippling tune, rapture beating
upon the smoke-grimed ground like rose-fingered dawns
have we met before in an incoherent dream?
you trotting along humming two lines of my song
drawing me close in rapid arpeggios, like an open
casement a note missing, all that brightness beyond
rushing in, a bough bending in the warm breeze
thin leaves swept summer-brown stirring spring
you are not perfect, slipping in and out like scurrying
clouds; distant in your masculine cruelty
I am afraid of your perfect beauty; mystical, so young
settling to sleep beside half-eaten chocolates,
vases crammed with roses, lilies, your breath
hot on my temples carrying sweetness of red wine
toes touching, arms clasped, your head on my breast
enflamed verses on loop, when I have these safe
in our metaphysical unity, what more did I need?

Conjuration

I play with images
you set floating in my mind,
every illusion casting
an identical shadow as we race
surrendering to the delirium
of which you remain in control
knowing it’d be over soon,
that the ground would become
frozen again.

I don’t even know what I say
at such moments,
you are growing silent every day
it’s always night where I am,
“I love you,” you say
if something has to be said,
what makes more sense?
we tell each other
we are lovers, in love
while my conviction
that we are on divergent paths
is revived from one conversation
to the next.

I wonder at the letters
I begin to write,
left unfinished
phone calls I break off
dialling before the last digit,
if this isn’t me on the brink
after a brief intermission
as though nothing has changed
and if I am not back
where I began?

“take this yearning seriously
you want me,” you say
and I rush to see you
in solitude I ask myself
if love is really in question
if it isn’t vulnerability
and embitterness
the neediness to which,
I am attracted?