Poetry
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FALSE PRETENCE
It might be easy at first taking sides with myself, being led astray by the fireflies which seemed to be the light at the end of this tunnel. It might even be reassuring to forgive myself from time to time, wondering where the road that I left unequivocally would have led to. It… Continue reading
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IN DELIRIUM
The hands of the clock are set in their ways displaying the time that was last seen before a calamity of this size erupted; they stare at me in mock annoyance as they oscillate between deciding whether to keep up with this pathetic charade or accept themselves for what they are. I raise… Continue reading
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IF RAIN IT MUST
(In the memory of Irrfan Khan) If rain it must on your snowy peaks when the wind stopped howling into the gale and turned the golden precipices into white, you remained unmoved, untouched by the fanfare that had enveloped us lesser mortals who only had a tiny idea about what you were trying… Continue reading
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WHEN REGRET VISITS
Sometimes I can’t sleep at night fearing memory’s diatribe. Soon darkness engulfs the light which I had tried to subscribe. I shiver to see my sorry plight and waver upon my shaken skin, a part of it had once been bright although now it’s dead from within. Why can’t I shake these visions… Continue reading
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ANNAPURNA
(Composed while gaping at your marvellous structure but put into paper much later.) Annapurna, your precipices looked forbidding enough without that hostile glare that you gave to onlookers; your walls covered with knee-deep snow, your tongue lashed with the smile of loss, your lips curled in a laugh that was cruel than death… Continue reading
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SHADOWS
It’s not you but a very close resemblance of your scarf falling across your neck like a bent leaf trudging across the windows of an old brownstone laced with rust; it’s not you but the everlasting smell of teenage regret and images of an unexciting and aggrieved past. It’s not your voice but the… Continue reading
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A NIGHT AT THE GRAVEYARD
We stand apart, hands on thighs There’s a visible nip in the air There’s so much to say yet we relinquish the chance As if its mere existence has scared us in advance and the wind gently tousles your hair. There have been lots of dreams made That found their place ultimately here Yet,… Continue reading
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ADMISSION
I’ll call you under trying circumstances but there is still going to be a tiny bit of fragility, a little bit of tenderness hidden inside this crevice I don’t know why you never show that side of yours to the world, I can only guess but it strikes me before I can call out your… Continue reading
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Release of book: THIS MEANS WAR
Dear friends, It gives me joy unspeakable to be able to inform you that my first book This Means War: Poems that never should have been written has been published and is available for sale now. It is a collection of thirty poems based upon a wide array of human emotions. From being able to… Continue reading
Mohul is a national-level cricketer, poet, sports journalist, travel writer and essayist from Hyderabad, India.
Copyright © 2015 by Mohul Bhowmick.
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