THE EXHIBITION
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THE EXHIBITION •
The Little Joys of Spring
Shamik Banerjee is a poet from India. He resides in Assam with his parents. Some of his recent works will appear in York Literary Review, Willow Review, Thimble Lit, and Modern Reformation, to name a few.
Photographer - Tobi Brun
The Little Joys of Spring
Each hill affirms the presence of the ease
That copiously comes when winter's dead.
Old stems regain esprit, but more than that,
Blooms of new colours join a flowerbed.
For man and beast, the obstinate disease
Of idleness tails off, and oval, fat,
And pulpy things suspend from leafy trees.
Lakes seem like glasses with paillettes of gold.
Leaf-scattered rays appear as stelliform
Designs that wink. In pocket parks, young boys
Take strolls, do yoga, and soak up the warm
And gentle sun, while in their groups, the old
Sip tea, debate the headlines, and rejoice
In watching the rose-coloured day unfold.
Temples win back their worshippers once more.
The mandaps' floor tiles chilled their naked feet
Back in December. Now, they're mild and friendly.
Now, vendors line the footways of each street
With pushcarts packed with fruits. Their charms restore
The market squares with shoppers and so gently
Set that old, lively hubbub like before.
But, out of all these lucky friends of spring,
The luckiest's the wandering butterfly,
For she is served a giant plate of flowers
On meads. She draws their fluids, then flutters by
A lad (who's come with his small net for trapping
her), making him believe he's superpowers;
He tries and tries while she keeps dancing, flapping.
Word Meaning:
Mandap: The main hall of a temple.
Shamik Banerjee is a poet from India. He resides in Assam with his parents. Some of his recent works will appear in York Literary Review, Willow Review, Thimble Lit, and Modern Reformation, to name a few.
To the Evening Breeze
Shamik Banerjee is a poet from India. He resides in Assam with his parents. Some of his recent works will appear in York Literary Review, Willow Review, Thimble Lit, and Modern Reformation, to name a few.
Photographer - Tobi Brun
To the Evening Breeze
When I unbolt the terrace door,
He enters quickly, greeting me
With kisses on my cheeks and hair
As if a friend who'd longed to see
My face for countless centuries.
As night begins to blacken more
And, ray by ray, the moonlight flees,
I settle on the window chair
And grab a book. Then he comes too
And reads the tale before I do.
He loves to ring the bright wind chimes,
Flick draperies, skim by each leaf
Of our Neem tree that waits all day
For his cool touch of sweet relief.
But out of everything, he likes
The top floor's balcony. He climbs
There, chitchats with the plants, or strikes
The hanging clothes—a rare ballet
For father, ma, and me to view;
A lustre finds our lips anew.
Shamik Banerjee is a poet from India. He resides in Assam with his parents. Some of his recent works will appear in York Literary Review, Willow Review, Thimble Lit, and Modern Reformation, to name a few.
A Meeting
Shamik Banerjee is a poet from India. He resides in Assam with his parents. Some of his recent works will appear in York Literary Review, Willow Review, Thimble Lit, and Modern Reformation, to name a few.
A Meeting
We chose our old patisserie, Faheem's,
One Monday noontime. Half the chairs were stacked.
The waiter Abdul's smile displayed the fact
He knew our likes: fudge brownies with whipped cream.
Her clothes were simple, just a plain Salwar
Kameez—not what she mostly wore to meet me.
No dimples sat upon her cheeks to greet me;
Her body there, her mind was somewhere far
Away. "Must be a slight familial thing,"
I thought and asked, "A crossfire with your mother?
The usual hijinks by your puckish brother?"
It seemed no act or word of mine could bring
The truth out of her throat. After a pause,
She spoke (as if an old, corroded door,
Reluctant to be slid): "Just six months more.
My baba says it's for my own good cause.
The boy's an engineer from our own caste
With good emoluments." She turned away
From me to hide her face, now moist and gray.
This news, like summer's heat, wizened the last
Bright bloom of optimism in my heart.
"When is the day?" I wished to ask but could
Not voice a word—perhaps, for my own good;
Perhaps, to keep my soul a bit apart,
Veiled from the knowledge of her wedding date.
We sat, hands clasped, and watched the hour grow,
The people leave, the lightbulbs' dimmish glow.
The food remained untouched on both our plates.
Word Meaning:
Salwar Kameez: an Indian outfit for females
Baba: Father
Shamik Banerjee is a poet from India. He resides in Assam with his parents. Some of his recent works will appear in York Literary Review, Willow Review, Thimble Lit, and Modern Reformation, to name a few.