Possibilities / Cherry Blossoms by Mitali Chakravarty

Possibilities

The trees walked,
sentient guardians
of the earth. There
were murmurings
and rumblings. And
the leaves whispered.

It was a time when
magic rang true,
a time of possibilities.
The forests sprouted
meadows where skies
watched butterflies flit.

Sunlit, starlit, moonlit,
days travelled to ages
and eons…

In the here and now,
trees stay stilled as
imagined realms seek
shelter from the wrath
of self-anointed kings.
We wait for magicians
but will they ever come?

Making wands from twigs
that long ago belonged to
walking trees, a child spells
magic in play…



Cherry Blossoms

There was a time
when cherry blossoms
filled the river with pink,
And the trees stared
arms akimbo at the sky.
Spring grew blossoms
till no leaf showed.

That was a time in yore.
A hundred years later,
will the colours remain
unblemished? Will the
flowers bloom still as
ice melts and tuxedoed
penguins lose homes?

My fingers grow veins
like gnarled branches
of trees. Spring turned
to summer, autumn
and winter. Seasons
coloured our lives. Will
seasons too change?

Mitali Chakravarty wafts on a cloud where rests borderlessjournal.com. Her poems can be found in Lothlorien Journal, Piker Press, Impspire Magazine, Fixator Press, Literary Yard, Daily Star among many other sites. She has been published extensively online and in hardcopy.

Photographs in Sepia / Climate Chatter by Mitali Chakravarty

Photographs in Sepia

Soft rustles weave nostalgia.
Memories of a shuffled walk,
voices that called with love,
leave imprints of the past.

They remain but shadows
of yesteryears. They never
die or disappear, but linger
as part of an unspoken life.

Photographs in sepia smile,
invoking lives that no longer
breathe. Yet, they persist as
residues of what had been.

The images do not speak
or move. They are not
videos but moments
captured in fading shades.

They waft on a soft breeze,
a faint recall, and yet, stay
a part of our very being.
Stilled, vignettes still sing.

In an unknown future, what will
these remembrances mean?

Climate Chatter 

It’s like summer in March. 

The temperature’s up. 

Near the equator, it rains. 

But now there are no clouds. 

There’s an unrelenting sun 

beating us down and haze… 

When the rain comes, 

storms thunder to bring 

down trees on cars or humans. 

Old trees are cut, replaced by new. 

Lightning strikes split the skies. 

But that is only when it rains. 

Earlier it poured everyday, 

but the trees, they stayed. 

Now, it’s seasonal and, ooh, the haze! 

Old trees near my home,

where orioles roamed, 

are now replaced by saplings. 

I watch the world change 

from my window, silencing 

the television screen. 

Mitali Chakravarty has three books of poems. She has edited two anthologies and has a book of essays. Her poems can be found in Fixator Press, Literary Yard, Daily Star, Medusa’s Kitchen, Dissident Voice among many other sites. Mitali wafts on a cloud where rests borderlessjournal.com.