Poetry

December 24, 2015 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

By

Archita Mittra

 

 

Sixteen That Never Was

 

 

It’s my birthday today.
Sweet Sixteen
To a girl who’d rather die.

I don’t feel anything.
No kiss, no heartbreak,
No singing in the rain moment
No one drunk enough,
To fall in love with,
Me.
And no glitter or confetti,
And no cocktail party
Not even a perfect song.
Nothing, but an emptiness

That comes from staring
Too hard, too long
At a blue lace dress;
Something high street
I was supposed to feel sexy
In,
That Daddy gave
To the daughter he never had

Staring, at the mirror
In a dress she doesn’t really
Belong in,
And she wants to belong.

I’m frightened
Because I can’t feel anything

And I’ll never ever be sixteen again.

 

 

 

 

Soliloquy of a Flower Vase

 

 

I am a barren woman, empty
Of my children. Hollow, and
Cursed to be immortal,
I am porcelain and I am
Nothing.

Till she fills me in,
With my hearts and blessings-
My tulips, my daffodils, my roses.
I care for them. They complete me.
I keep them safe, I inhale them,
They fill me with colour and meaning.
They

Die. I cannot stop it, I do not
Know, how. Something, takes
Away, the very life from them
And they droop over me,
Clinging
To my skin.
I weep blankly.
I must be a witch
To be a mother bearing
Dead children, over and over,
Like some distorted Sisyphus.

 

 

 

 

 

Archita Mittra

Archita Mittra loves to tell stories and has a fondness for the vintage, the imaginary and the fantastical. A freshman at Jadavpur University in Kolkata, India, she is majoring in English Literature and is also pursuing a Diploma in Multimedia and Animation from St. Xavier’s College, Kolkata. She has won several writing contests and her work has appeared in numerous online and print publications including Quail Bell Magazine, eFiction India, Life In 10 Minutes, Glo Mag and Sleeve, among others. You can read more of her writing at ‘Ivy on the Trellis‘ and ‘The Polyphonic Phoenix‘.

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