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Srijani Roy's poetry submissions

Dead Carcass

The best comes out from the dead carcass, The worst from the appealing daffodils; That took almost my life to grow. It reminds me of Parker-- And her scares of being the country girl, Where she could only languish with what; She was destined to rot till death. But unlike her, I don't have a Clyde,

To accompany me in the crimes; Kissing me during the criminal tours.

Today there's hardly a bird I could listen to, There's hardly the wind to entail my pain away; But what lives is the dead carcass. And there are the hands that lie, With the smell of mechanical existence. Candles among make the loudest noise, And there's me looking at the dead; Praying for life.

A Woman

I've got the body of a woman, That I can't be the girl, inferior to a man's whip. It's me who can't make a pretty face, And open my mouth for sweet talks. I have my weapons which your mind says " make up", That I can laugh a lifetime with tears down my cheeks. It's all the bad breath you'll get out of my mouth; Cause there's a lot of poison that I imbibed. I have got a heart that beats; No matter how many times you stab it. God, got me in the rotten hands of a man ; Who's anything but not a lover. And it's my fate which happens to play, With the devil, to bring the soul of mine to the jaws of death. I've got my feet above the earth, That it's all in vain to pull the rock beneath my feet. I've got my hands full of thorns; And yes I am the pretty rose you desire thoughtlessly. While you smile at the rain, I feel I'm cursed by the heavenly powers; So you call me the storm or a thorn, But it's me a woman; Whom you'll find hard to embrace.


The biased culture I reside in, Insists me on the way; To walk across the path, That have got their own feet hurt. A dozen times they would repeat, To dress me up like a wrapped up gift box, Then beware of assaults because, in their rule book, Exposure is strictly restricted. Half a dozen times, They would force me to marry; The man next door, who's currently forty, But holds a lot of riches; And a couple of boys, His dead wife left him with. Biased them would suggest you things to do in bed, With the stranger in grey hair; On the day of the wedding you met. Biased culture, biased them, list them all roughly, To throw it out from your head. Enough of blindness, see through things, Because they would never save you; When rates are high in risks. Biased them are themselves wrapped; Don't fall prey to the grave, You were never destined for. Embrace what's your, Defend what doesn't suit; Yet never surrender to the turbid debark that kills you from inside.


And when the curtains fall this time, Which version of yours; Is to be exulted for the one a head? Did you recognise yourself this far, That you can own, indeed the whole conduct of temptation. For there is an intensity of individuality, And also your own acknowledged master of what you regard as your descriptive power; Yet particularly a varied beauty in style. Did you determine the quality of your thoughts? While comparing to the miscellaneous characters, Compromising addresses to friends; Fairy tales into lullabies for children, Occasional poems on all sorts of subjects; And many love poems being delightful in their naturalness. Just depict a reason for being this fond lover, While devoting to the whole lot of verses. And being indulged in strained metaphors, Yet not to me but to your twenty years old self; Thereby promising to yourself, That not to turn the mind of one, stirred by the fiercest passions. But preferring to sing the joys of life, With a tender sense.


Captivated by the menacles, all around, I almost drowned myself into the canard. Afraid of their carp, at my back, I kept putting a new persona; The truth that wished to vent that Me, Found it to be inert within. They never knew how grim I was, Because they loved to exult my fib, I entailed on every new day. Applause for the charlatan looks, Pushed me more to the turbid debark; The pique went on in it's pace. Making me debase all I acquired,

Then came the day of my last felony; Putting the persona, I duped the Self, And devoted her into the hands of Demise.

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