liminal spaces

linger all you want;
nestled between dusty chairs
gazing up at a lonely stage
your breath disturbs the silence,
shatters it for the first time in a lifetime
and if you ache to tell the stories
that echo in the broken pieces of
this tranquillity, then know this:
you are a writer.

stare out at the sunset;
the howling wind whipping your
hair into a hurricane.
watch as the sky is painted in
shades of rose and teal
and if you find yourself wondering
can such beauty be real?
then know this:
you are a writer.

you lie awake amidst the
languid air of dreams
body lit by the light of the stars,
limbs cradled by the shadows of the night.
fingers tremble and breath stutters;
mind wanders while the world slumbers
and you know this with the
certainty of the rising sun:
you are a writer.


ode to the dead

the grave lies empty
beneath the dying sycamore tree
oh, darling, there was
nothing left of you to bury
red roses rest against a marble headstone,
flashing of blood and of bone.
they say you went down
in a blaze of glory, a righteous flame
fighting for your country.
the tales they told you
fables of honour and of truth,
they poisoned your mind,
it’s alright to leave us all behind
you’re gone, but the world spins on
amidst roiling sea and splitting thunder,
falling snow and blooming flower,
i slumber in my cocoon of grief
as youth ripens to age, as day turns to night
i awaken to the smell of rotting red roses,
my hands wrapped around
all that is left of your memory;
six feet of empty earth and
a dead sycamore tree.

-anumita // 11th september 2018

of goodnights and goodbyes

the sunset blossoms,
a masterpiece of peonies and violets
the smoky dusk marking
the end of a lonely summer day.

the sun rests her lovely head
on her funfetti pillows, and dreams of
crushed pink petals stuck to damp tar, of
a butterfly wing fluttering in the breeze,
of stars and prophecies and happy endings.

this evening seems like one out of a movie
bright and sad and quite surreal,
like an artsy slow-motion shot, but as
tinny pop queen croons a forgotten melody
i’m reminded that this is real life,
and i drown in my melancholy.

weeks spent craving silence, and
all i seem to do now is dream
of the echoes of our laughter.
the summer of two thousand eighteen
seems like a bed of roses;
silk, with the prick of a silver needle.

we will waltz forever,
frozen as angels of eighteen,
dancing through my memories.
the stars twinkle as i spread my wings,
poised to soar the midnight wind.

-anumita // 25th april 2018


the city lights twinkle up at me,
the bands of molten gold framing
cracked concrete runways
my city is bursting at the seams tonight;
barely held together by
fairy-light street lamps and the
hopes of a hundred hurtling hearts.
am i the only one that can
read the message in the
flutter of a butterfly’s wings?
there is order to the chaos,
the self-service board screams.
as the ocean caresses my bare feet
waves of song float over me,
whispering of a forgotten treasure;
painted toes glint in the tepid water,
a coral tapestry of corsets and pirate ships
this world of mine, it has carried
the weight of a million bodies before mine
and it will hold the weight of a million more
watching the decades fly past,
writing happy endings and
forever orchestrating a new dawn.
the seams of my city split tonight
and i am blown away by the
sheer magnificence of this disarray.

-anumita, 26/02/2018

the echo of last night

i sit sipping a fine cocktail of lost things and last times.
tomorrow is the last time i will ride the school bus. all it is now is now a vessel of times long gone by; a sunflower that no longer looks me in the eye. with every breath, memories assault me.
the gloom of winter evenings brightened by our laughter. a bad day made bearable by music. lost times with friends i no longer talk to, my last french class, lazy summer evenings and sleepovers. echoes of lost opportunities and things better left unsaid.
this is the last time i will regret, i promise myself. i hear my promises soar away with the midnight wind.
my past haunts me, winking at me from the shadows. where did the remnants of yesterday go?
when i find a single sock wedged into the curtain rod that hangs above the window in my room, i begin to understand. when i find my report card from fourth grade, seashells from a summer at the beach and friendship bands from three summers ago, i form my theories.
everything that i have ever lost is waiting for me, in the dark corners of all the places i have ever been, protecting days long gone.
i long to go on a treasure hunt, to adorn my memories with baubles forged from misplaced possessions and buried experiences.

the sound of breaking glass

oh, sorrow, aren’t you one of a kind?
you smell like blood and roses,
and i am choking on your perfume.
with your black dress and red lips
and icy eyes and cracked hands
you peeled away my defenses
and got me drunk on my tears.
pack away your bone china
and your dying rose plant.
take down your photographs,
and let me repaint your mustard walls
in shades of pink and green.
i do not want you here anymore.
the echoes of your melody haunt me,
the background score of my nightmares
and i feel your presence ever so often
in the thump of my stuttering heartbeat,
but i do not miss you anymore and
i do not want you here anymore.
i called the moving van.
it’s here.

18.10.17 // 7:29 pm

sweet dreams, sweetheart

i know what panic feels like
when the shadows in my room
turn and grin at me,
jagged teeth illuminated by
the flash of lightning outside
we used to be friends
but the sound of their laughter now
resembles screaming far too closely
for me to draw comfort from it.
i know the taste of fear,
metallic and horrid in my mouth
i feel that fear in my bones
as my shaking fingers clutch at
my sweat-drenched barbie blanket
barbie, think of barbie, think of
butterflies and raindrops and oh god
there is a thunderstorm outside my window
nightmare, daydream? darkness
what in heaven is making that noise?
i feel like prey
i hear footsteps;
that isn’t the sound of my breathing
the devil is reading over my shoulder
shaky fingers flick that thought away,
fluttering eyelids droop shut
i’m drifting, floating, sleeping…
i hear a whisper in my ear
sweet dreams, sweetheart

-anumita // 01.10.17