Mandira Mitra

How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways:
I hate you like the early winter six o clock alarm
I hate you like Black coffee that forgot to stay warm.
I hate you like a surprise test on Compound Interest
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I would erase all memory of you, I would
Strike out word upon word with delight
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The flowers of May are in full bloom
But they do not attend my fresco.
And only yesterday, touching up Noah,
I felt the wind change directions
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Fall-winter girl,
Sparkling, wise
Words trail off
Fashions capsize
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This seals our pact; from this day
You turn a different route, I go my way.
No turning back, no tearful sighs
As we look up ahead at our apportioned skies.
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A house is new
After many many years of moving in
Until, one fine morning
You add a fresh mourning
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Shut your eyes.
Whoever failed to make you see
You are the handsomest man on earth
Mirrors, friends, magazines
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At age nine, an exasperated teacher
Slapped me for being circle-obtuse.
None of his analogies worked and
The circle remained a mystery, a
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Now touches the first ray of the Sun
My tomatoes’ ruby face
Peeping from the green junction
Of their dark gloomy foliage.
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Do not be afraid to build.
That’s what Granny said.
After three-score and ten
Years of traversing nations,
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She of the allied forces
He of the foe
She of the lion
He of the buffalo
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Rain clouds gather in the sky
Like stalkers in silent consensus.
Grinning, communicating eye to eye
Crouching for you
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Morning, mourning dawn
Faint, feint grief
Thrones thrown my way
Offer no relief.
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I leave you nothing, Papa,
Except a red brick mound.
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Oh why are the winds so wild today,
And the skies so sizzling blue,
Birds unusually vocal
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To warm urgent winds
Stroking insane minds
Thunder and rumbling in sky
And ocean, come rain.
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Nothing to say anymore
No emotions, complaints,
Unreasons that shout,
Without a word further
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Worlds hum slowly in my sleep
I drown in dreams; their shadows deep
Like gypsy women's ancient art
Lull an ischemic heart.
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Sunday morning. I dust my alphabets to a shine
To build you a dainty rhyme.But you wake up
Red-eyed from your nightmare
Like the Loch-ness monster.
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You wanted to travel the world, so I wrote you a song.
Now you want to be a singer. Maybe I shall hunt a forest boar
And adorn your ego wall with its hooves.
Day before yesterday you were talking to
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