Posts by Mrinal Kalita

Of Madness and Sanity

<script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></script> <!– taw-responsive –> <ins class=”adsbygoogle”      style=”display:block”      data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″      data-ad-slot=”1428227755“      data-ad-format=”auto”></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script> Depression, my friend, has a way of stiffening your spirits and coaxing your sanity to madness.   The other day I drew three penises over my poetry to stop it from screaming and reminding me of a week’s heartache and deliria. The same

Of War and Letters

<script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></script> <!– taw-responsive –> <ins class=”adsbygoogle”      style=”display:block”      data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″      data-ad-slot=”1428227755“      data-ad-format=”auto”></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script> Ammu, this war has swallowed whole both our hearts and our sanities, shifting quick and rebellious under days and nights of ruin and fear and the sound of bullets throwing away 2-inch sized barrels and laying waste to a thousand lives, all of

To an Ex-Lover I Couldn’t Love Enough

I swear there is something paranormal about November mornings and your hands.   I wake up to morbid senses, my nose burning in the coldness and eyes peeking through cracked eyelids.   I remember you on such mornings the same way I did the years ago– by the curls of your frizzy hair and the light stomp on your toes.   The first time we held hands it was in

Demons Inside

<script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></script> <!– taw-responsive –> <ins class=”adsbygoogle”      style=”display:block”      data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″      data-ad-slot=”1428227755“      data-ad-format=”auto”></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script> There have been days when the blade seemed all too welcoming, all too peaceful, all too easy; when the madness that grew inside my bones and dictated my spirit like tiny chess pawns, made suicide seem less like a weakness and more like

Broken Memoirs – Part Three

Read Part Two Here   The day you left Maitrey, your suitcase on the bottom most step and the tears in your eyes shook away my toxicities and crashed my sanity to pieces. It doesn’t surprise me how weak my spirits have become, how your absence eats me whole every minute, how loving you doesn’t seem as futile as it really is. The day you left, the nothingness pounced onto

Broken Memoirs – Part Two

(Read Part One here)   The cigarette smoke floats in the air tonight. I sit down and watch the war and the bombs and the economy transpire inside my living room, and the hysterical laughter of the neighbours invade into my sadness while I recollect the curves of your lips, and the words from my mouth that you chewed away with every second that you kissed me a little longer.

Broken Memoirs – Part One

It has been a long day Maitrey, facing the callous world, gasping for anxious breath, fighting its clauses like silent rebels in uniforms of mediocrity.   My rickshaw ride back home is melancholic. The monsoon breeze grazes by me bringing the scent of ripe mangoes, the smell of wet mud, the hum of the faraway factories and the knocking of your memories whispering the stories that you would repeat over

Part 4 – The Day We Came Together

(Read Part Three – The Day We Came Together here)   Your voice is still quite the same. And my name sounds just as dusky in your lips. I still remember the sadness of the songs that you would hum on stormy nights with the candle light by the bedside table flickering weakly in the wind, and I, lying next to you, would slowly ease away with the melody into the reveries

Part 3 – The Day We Came Together

(Read Part Two – The Day We Came Together here)   And yes, the rains have come down again, washing away the quiet, winter strength; clasping the tendons and up the spine in a shuddering electric wave– restless tremors under the wraps of long confined boundaries, waiting, perhaps, for a miracle escape, from the strangled soul.   The symphony of the drops takes me back a long way– through the black nights

Part 1 – The Day We Came Together

And there, our eyes met yet again after the long tiresome years: distant memories lounging about like stars in the midnight skies. Black as my mind. Black as our lives, as we, dreadfully bonded apart stood silently, drenched in each other’s gaze.There you stood,