by S. Rupsha Mitra
Dense night descends, like macabre hues of
Dark pale green, Sable blue,
In the smoky haze of grey-dust, thick purple and poppy red-
Idol makers stand shivery, preparations towards completion
The skinny models of ghosts, wide-eyed
Tongue opened
Line the lonesome gravel Street.
Children frightened run as the
Night darkens deep
Through the apple boughs
They rush briskly as they hide their faces in the aanchals
Of their mothers’ peach vermillion sarees
Celebrations
Begin with the carousel and
Dancing limb
In the graveyards, where
Mantras are whispered like hushed secrets by
The Tantric in rising zest.
With flashing red lustre spilling all over — a strewn gnawing redness.
The weather’s inclement, stiffening the spine, the ribs squash
Chamund arises from the rages of fire, the hibiscus scent,
misted spice,
The white skulls of
Grotesque devils worn by Kali round her neck like
A garland of pearls.
Screeching and roaring sounds ramble
Through huge gusts of winds
Spirits like loadstones walk to Kali Ma,
To seek shelter in her home.
S. Rupsha Mitra is a student from India with a penchant for writing poetry. Her works can be found in Blue Marble Review, Fuse Magazine and Indian Periodical.
