Damayanti Datta's Poems




History’s Rules


Dusty manuscripts and broken quills,

Fragile history on burned parchments.

Roses and love stories on window sills

And closed carriages on clean pavements.

Castles of old built up high,

Armoured knights and gentle damsels.

Caged within a secret and a lie,

Entire lives gift-wrapped in parcels.

Cigars, sweet smiles, sword fights and knitting, 

Wars in chain-mail and talking behind curtains.

Ornaments and dresses for the parties befitting,

Treasures proudly shown and the lost, hidden stains.

Lords of the parliaments and ladies of high-teas,

Boys in the rain and girls buried in sand.

Men to fight and women to despair,

Divided we fall, united we stand.

Centuries of society and centuries of rules

Broken hearts and suppressed minds.

Millenia of dry wood only for the ‘fools’.

To light the fire never known to our kind.

Tears left unshed and smiles that hid pain,

Falling asleep to not fall apart.

Dancing ‘neath the sun and secret walks in the rain

Sitting alone with a questioning heart.


25 March 2021


To Live for Eternity


Am I the gull who flies out free,

Of whom the storm and wind is fond.

Flying away over the sea,

Not held by a single bond.

Every storm is made to be fought,

Happy alone with no care.

Hiding the changes things have brought,

Always finding peace elsewhere.

Am I the peep-bird, calm and sweet,

Always staying near the shore.

Content with the seas at its feet,

Never asks for any more.

Keeping safe, not venturing out,

Comforted only at home.

Friendly creatures, busy about,

The light on the happy dome.

Am I the lark, always new plans,

To get up among the clouds.

Always ready to take a chance,

Preferring the bustling crowds.

To be something beyond the real,

In the world of uncertainty.

Trying to gain and never to feel,

To live for eternity.


11 December 2019


Melt the Frost


Thousands of children across the world,

Work for a living, forever bound.

Their wings never grow, always furled,

Buried deep, they remain unfound.

How can we celebrate this day,

When they remain forgotten.

Their black dark, never pierces a ray.

Their windows closed, never open.

It’s up to us, to give them a hand.

It’s up to us to reach out.

To help them out in this cold land,

Where no one ever turns about.

Let them grow roots, let them grow wings,

The way they want let them fly.

Let them go to where the stars sing,

That day, the rainbow will shine up high.

The past will not be remembered,

The future must not be lost.

The present must make itself heard.

A helping hand can melt the frost.


13 November 2019




Comments

Shabnam said…
Amazing. Keep writing