An evocative poem about the attic and old age from Deeya
Robbed she stands, bearing scars all over her putrid skin; dust-settled fungi-smeared; stale from the air over yester-years *** Each morning the segregated sun parades into the still air, raucous with the gnawing of termites for the fond warmth. A hushed figure steals into the captive air, nostrils inundated with the smell of dusty boxes, worn-out trunks, rusty hinges and forfeited wares. *** Each night, in New Moon nights she conceives knowing well it would die the next day and not a trace be found. *** Still, on Nights like these she's immortal only to wither by day, immaculate only to be dishevelled and ageless only to crumble by the deteriorating sun.
Image by Different Truths
Born in Durgapur, West Bengal, Deeya Bhattacharya has a PG in English Literature and a Graduate in Education from the University of Burdwan. Her poems and articles have appeared in several national and international journals, websites, and e-zines, besides several anthologies. Member of Poets International, she has read her poetry at quite a few fests. She teaches English and Poetry at a State Government High School.
By
By
By