Poetry Drawer: You come to me in Hiding: Had I known: At your touch by Ritamvara Bhattacharya

You come to me in Hiding

At the deepest hour of night, You, my Lord, come to me in hiding.
In your strong arms, you pull me close enough –
You are my bliss.
You are the charioteer of my chariot moving past amidst all sorrow.
You, alone, are my friend.
You are my vulnerability, you are my catastrophe.
You are my bliss.
You conquer my enemies in concealment.
You, my Lord, solely is my friend.
You are the Rudra incarnation, you are the fear of the fear.
You are my bliss.
You are the thunder bifurcating my bosom.
You alone are my friend.
I bid you to lull me in death cutting me from the ties of all the bondages of Samsara.
You, you are my bliss.

Had I known

Had anyone known that you would beckon me?
I was dead-ignorant-asleep.
Samsara had encroached on me in deep darkness.
Had I known that you would pour in the bliss of grief in my soul,
had I known that you would drench me in tears!
I had not known when the sun of your benediction graced the eastern hemisphere,
without much thought, I could feel your gracious warmth filling the innermost folds of my heart, soul, skin –
You, my Lord washed off my shore with the tide of your immortal sea –
You broke open all the bars that I had put across.
You brought the wind of evensong, you brought hope in my heart.
The boat of my existence is now anchored at your lotus feet.

At your touch

My sadness has crossed the paths of infinity.
At last it has touched your feet, a summation of happiness and mirth.
Since days, I have shed tears boundlessly,
I have not known why it has been flowing relentlessly-
Today, I have woven a string of my teardrops, to garland you, O my Lord.
Your Northern Star has beckoned me in evading darkness.
I have never reasoned the sadness that I have borne all the while
I was still in quietness.
Today, after ages, at your touch, my sadness has become a string of the lute that plays for you.

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. She received The Nissim International Poetry Prize in the year 2020 and the Tagore Poetry Prize in 2020. Her poems have been published in some noted portals like The Muse India, Café Dissensus, The Sunflower Collective, Aynanagor, Chakkar, The Indian Periodical, Plato’s Cave and others. Her debut chapbook,’ In the mirror, our graves’ along with veteran writer Ravi Shankar N published in 2021 has received accolades. She is an avid lover of life, literature, colours and has lived in awe for the past quarter-century. She intends to see the world stricken with fear and courage, in silence and sound, in love and hatred, all. She believes contradiction adds to the aroma of living and would love to dwell in the same, giving birth to more celebratory bells. August Rituals is her first solo debut poetry book published by Writers Workshop in August, 2022.

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