
Born and brought up in UP, Poulomi Bose moved to Delhi for her graduate education and pursued an Honours degree in English from IP College, DU, MA in English Literature from JNU and Mphil in English Literature from Hyderabad Central University. She has taught in various colleges in Delhi University for 4 years as assistant professor of English Literature. Her areas of interest include Victorian Literature and Literary Theory as well as Communicative English, and she has taught language proficiency courses in both JNU and DU. A constant academic achiever, Ms. Bose has several publications to her credit in various national journals and books, and she has also presented papers in prestigious institutions like DU, University of Hyderabad, Jamia Millia Islamia, Jadavpur and Osmania University. She has also published a novella, a short story and several poems. She started writing poems while in college, initially to pour out emotions and experiences into words, which later grew into a way to resist and speak up against sociology-political issues that she feels strongly about.
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City behind the Clouds
Do you know of the
City behind the clouds?
Where golden waters
fly in the sun of night
as birds with glistening
feathers swim by
across the fields of
soft, soft cotton balls,
baked ripe with the
warmth of the mist
that guards the
city like a secret.Do you wonder
if it’s people, made of thoughts
also shift in and out of
reality like their city keepers-
one moment a dragon,
another, a unicorn,
a house, an ocean
a hallow, or nothing.
Do they laugh like the
sound of rumbles and
cry out big drops of rains,
and walk on air like magic?Do you want to go
to the city of clouds,
where the floor
beneath your feet floats
over the world, and your thoughts
roll on the fairytales
of the horizons where your
dreams have lived,
since forever.
How to be a Vegetable.
Learn to be calm
and composed and very,
very still. let them look
leer poke prod pinch
touch grope squeeze.Hold it in, right there
contain the explosion
in your throat, until you
taste blood with your
vocal chords. Try to speak.If you can hear yourself,
Learn to be calm
and composed and
very, very still.
Rinse, Repeat.
Caution: If it gets into your eyes,
gouge them out.Get glass eyes, that will not
be cast down in shame
everytime they leer poke
prod pinch touch grope
squeeze.
The Lizard
Like clockwork you move
Across the corner of my eye
Tick tick tick and tock
Goes yet another mighty king,
You, the mother of Grendel,
Seducing them with your
Swirling tongue that moves
Like the whiplashes on the body
Of the Salem witches whose
Laughter echoed in the ears of
Those that burnt them, even when
None of them ever laughed.
Don’t you know, tongues are
Evil, you graceful salome,
Moving silently with the swish of
Your tail, dancing the tarantula
And then comes the call at the
Chime of three, like the lustful hiss
Of medusa, and every time they turn,
Thinking they have been called
And as they look into those
Widening black eyes, their hearts
Turn to stones, stones that had bruised
Your bodies in Salem, the battle scars
On your skin that water cannot wet
(The fools tried to drown you too)
And tick tick tick tock you
Moved across the clock of history
Hidden in the corners of their eyes,
The folds of their bed, the curtains
Of their bloody bathrooms and each time
They cut your hair, your tail grew back
Again and again and again and
Tick tick tick tock with your burning
Touch and your flickering tongue
You lock them all in your trap
Savouring their taste in your mouth
Drinking their blood drop by drop
Like kaali, moving faster and faster
Your tongue wet with desire and then
Tick tick tick tock.
अल्पविराम
मेरे विद्रोह की भाषा
आपके व्यंग्य की लिपि
की आभारी है.
कितनी सहजता से मेरी पीड़ा
आपकी तटस्ठता के स्वर
में सज जाती है साहित्य
बनकर, और मेरे
अधिकार आकांक्षl बन
शृंगार कर लेते हैं. मेरी
असहमित नासमझी की
पयार्यवाची है और
स्वाभिमान अहंकार का
समानाथर्क, जो मेरी
अभिव्यक्ति को उच्शृंखता
में बदल देते हैं. मेरी
असहजता की वर्तनी
आपसे आधार लिए अक्षरों
में हर बार सम्मति बन
जाती है. जो कुछ भी इन
गिरवी शब्दों में कहती
लिखती हूँ मैं, आपके
व्यंग्य की बंधुआ मज़दूर
मेरी भाषा टूट जाती है
अपने ही बोझ से दबाकर,
और एक बार फिर मेरे
शब्द आपके अल्पविराम
बन जाते हैं.