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

Deeya Bhattacharya

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.

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