Author: Sunidhi Bajaj

You’ve thrived here,
In the turf you’re slacking currently
Oh cherished poppy let me know,
Does the turf still harbour you in the manner it did on first rendezvous?

You’ve blossomed here,
In the turf you considered home
Oh cherished poppy let me know,
Does the turf still succour you in the manner it did on first squall ?

Does the turf still hold conversations with you now that you have nothing left to speak?
In the manner it did when you were drenched in season’s first rain,
And your soul was sombre.

Oh cherished poppy let me know,
Does the turf blame you for being tweaked?
Does the turf hold you responsible for not cultivating barbs?
Oh cherished poppy please let me know, was it just to tweak you?
My appalling judgements believed
you’ll wither and wilt and perhaps perish if you slacked in the unvaried locale you’ve been slacking in since the dawn of time.

If I wronged you, please let me know how to plonk you back?

The walls,

Walls of a hospital,

They have heard cries,

Cries of an old lady

Who lost her son in an accident.

They have seen grinning

Grinning of a Father

At the first cry of his tiny infant.

The walls of hospital,

From Birth to death

They have seen it all

They stand there

Taking in all the jouissance and delirium.

They stand there

When the doctors leave.

They stand there

When a patient is alone.

They’ve heard,

Prayers and curses.

From the coldness of Mortuary

To the elation in neonate ward.

They are dipped in fumes of infections

Surrounded by the smell of drugs

Wrapped up in haughty authority

These are the walls of hospital

Of a place that gifts life,

A place that gifts an after life,

A place that gives serenity to suffering.

~Sunidhi Bajaj

Shells which are pale yellow,

Diluted with a hint of white,

Shells shaped oval,

Shells which are sealed and occluded,

Shells which are like guardian draperies,

To a new progeny, a new life.

A hair line mark appears,

From the cranny,

Little emerald eyes,

Take in the light.

The hard shell, hatches and pushes,

The covers aside.

To reveal a hatchling,

A hatchling of an alligator,

Like the draperies which unfurl,

To embrace the crowning of an autarch.

The hatchling,

crawls up to its mother,

Hunter green eyes,

Taking into consideration,

Every small detail of the tribe.

Glee turned into gloom,

As felicitations were disturbed

And a havoc was created,

By the poachers.

In no time the baby,

Was parted from its mother,

As the baby was picayune,

But the mother,

She was the owner,

Of million dollar skin.

Her skin was ripped off,

And the blood dripped,

Every drop had nostalgia,

Every drop had memories,

Every drop had the pain,

And the suffering,

Of a disastrous farewell,

From her beloved child.

With tears of blood,

She finally closed her eyes

And a bleeding cadaver,

Died again.

But this time with Death.

The million dollar skin,

Now with glistening texture,

And well constructed framework,

Is worn and adorned with embellishments,

By the human race,

To events concerned,

With gists and ideas,

on wildlife protection.

And,The petite baby alligator,

Is lone and clueless about the world,

It is now in.

~Sunidhi Bajaj

(Picture credit:pinterest)

Modestly the blood was dawdling,

Covering Portion by portion,

The entire living corpse,

Charged by tranquillisers called drugs.

A corpse, which turns alive,

By the perfidious aroma of that tranquillity,

Until one day, the brain choked,

The heart alarmed,body was exhausted.

And that blood, the blood in suffering,

The blood in utter pain,

Now gradually came out.

The pain in red,

Was finally flowing out,

Leaving its body forever.

The body,of which the blood,

Was once an integral part,

But the demonic pain,

Pain called stress,

Suffocated the blood,

Packed it up with toxic tranquillity,

And the blood had nowhere to go,

Hence gave up,

left the living corpse,

To die alone.

~Sunidhi Bajaj

(Picture credit:www.dolmanlaw.com)

Static hand in front of the sun,

A black bodied hand forms behind it,

Still as the static hand,

Stable,motionless but lifeless.

Never reckoned to reputation,

A personality so contradictory to,

It’s authoritative body,

More than a thallus,less than a carcass,

Body differentiation,limb by limb,

No eyes,no mouth,no sight,no speech,

A mute spectator without vision.

The sun sets,

Dusk falls upon.

The contradictory body

Merges with its authority,

Like a soul in a cadaver,

Solitude of both bodies,

Contended.

The voids of each other’s absence,

Filled with unification as one.

Just like red sun,

merging with horizon

An affectionate vista,

Of a shadow connecting,

With its body.

~Sunidhi Bajaj

Hoarding boards in non native language,

Mizzling water upon concretion concrete tiles,

Scents of perfumed candles,

Mingling with the aroma of cuisines around,

Traditional attires interweaving,

With the cultural fiesta..

A dimension of dusk,

For this ostentatious street,

Can rarely be pronounced,

A sedate walk down the Japanese agora,

an apotheosis of a latibule,

for an explorer’s vagility..

~Sunidhi Bajaj

(Picture credits:pinterest)

Rivulets of sweat poured off,

Perspiration on temples..

Pounding heart,

Cold sweat gushing in the stream of blood.

A premonition of defeat,

Of destruction.

Frustrated of failure,

Of dereliction.

Pumping self doubt with every beat of heart.

To everyone’s bewilderment,

Frustrated individual transformed.

Transformed into a fighter,

Transformed into a warrior,

In a war against self distrust.

A battle in opposition to self was ended,

Fighter came out,

with flying colours of assertiveness.

Bleeder was now a Victor.

~Sunidhi Bajaj

(Picture credit: cosmopolitan)

Checkered black and white,
A galaxy of scintillating stars,
Faintly green and red hues,
Sometimes shimmery,
Sometimes even blue
A disparate world is found
When the eyes are rubbed and
In the colourful mirage of phosphenes
We are drowned..

~The colours of a disparate world, the world when eyes are rubbed~

Poem© Sunidhi Bajaj

An individual,
Intertwines the fingers.
As one convolutes upon another
Fortuitous fortune is clenched,
Betwixt the two fingers.
The person then turns into an itinerant,
Inside the body of yearning and expectation.

©Sunidhi Bajaj