Bipasha Haque

Nobody tells me to search for you as if there’s a timeframe for undertaking such quests! My voice sounds like yours, and often, looking at my arms, I get puzzled,

Meanwhile I looked for space, for a new frontier.

I forbade the clouds to sprawl around this flood plain- the clouds unendingly somersault around my windowpane at the beckoning of drooping hillocks though.

(I guess) some birds don’t return to roosts.

I’m telling you amidst the whispering cropped-headed paddy field, in the lore of these reeds, in the orchestra of these auburn after-harvest field by the seedlings that crack this soil-- I am their spokesperson.

Doesn’t anyone get that my soul cringes for a call?

I say “No” to the jungle’s call.

In poetry’s kaleidoscope the clichés are sentiments, philosophy.