Ritamvara Bhattacharya's Poems




Ritamvara Bhattacharya writes from a darling’s heart, Darjeeling. She believes in what Sylvia Plath said, “And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” She writes for the pleasure of it. She writes for the ‘I am’ in her heart, a voice that creates ripples and sensation.

















Is there a lover God?


Watching the cold eye of the aquarium from a distance is quite different from touching its glass body as deep dead frostbites can sometimes feel soft when you look closely in search of life existing deep within. Cold is the touch I have awaited for. Am I to be blamed for killing a fluttering moth on the blossoming white flower? Am I to be cursed by the flower to have sewed the dead moth on its young body under that sick moonlight? The moon, the moth, the flower - Is it that I am their God? 

The aquarium has dyed its mossy bed with the new moonlight and I am her only lover, licking her white cold wet body wishing for the death of every star that has shone in the bright constellation 


Visitors. 


I have scribbled to remind myself of this place and later I looked into the sky and farther I held my limbs bare as that naked tree pointed to the crowded sky. My limbs were lost high above, maybe they created shadows in some other space and time. I came back to my room, searching for my faint heart throb. I resumed back on bed, waves white and green moved in and out, the tempest tossing waves crashed for freedom, crumbling, slaying, the world's light fell dark. 


black waters

deep dark still

to breathe a sigh


The sun through the east facing balcony flooded my body warm, smothered me with fiery kisses and later at night the moon with its wisdom soaked me like the old woman who still runs the charka to spin silk thread of different hues in another world. Few more visitors did come in, a storm struck white magnolia plant and an outrageous honey bee to add some volume to the rather silent room. And my body still waits for some more visitors to visit. 


sowing wildflowers 

by the road 

I saw darkness


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