DAY 13
Prompt: Petrichor

On a magical rainy night
I am encased in your arms holding me tight
Our hearts absorbed in its own liquid fire
Nature outside the window singing its soulful choir
The freshly washed earth emanating its musky scent
Petrichor -holds our hearts too in its torrent
Drawing our lips together in kisses ardent
We taste the essence of our bodily core
Our bodies arching to draw in more
Our souls pounding in anticipation
Fused into one, our ardor finally reaches new haven
Rain, fusing into earth’s womb draws its salvation
Your musk, enraptures my soul in passionate exultation.

©Paromita Mukherjee Ojha, 13th April 2016





Day 11 & 12

Prompt :  Et Tu Brute !

Passion Fruit


I hear your ominous laughter

I feel my heart slaughtered

My blood staining the pristine river water

I pull on my dithering will power

To foil the murderous intention of you, my lover

A beastly coward that hitherto I had failed to uncover


Stealthily I swim, stumble, fumble and crawl

While I witness you on the other bank prowl

I feel lost in the abyss of my life now lost its course

Your treachery sucking out my life force

I feel like a fool blind all this while

I nurturing our home through my sweat and toil

While you dug into luscious passion fruits

Planting your seeds night after night into newer soil


I came home tonight ecstatic to share my joy

Scarce knowing that to you I was only a lusty toy

We were about to become parents

Your ballistic reaction to the joyous news was abhorrent

I failed to read your devilish thought current


Your sudden decision to stroll near the river bank

I should have guessed was a precursor to a death prank

One shove, a mighty push

Was enough to complete your deadly ambush!

My soul sank into its own dark abyss chanting Et tu brute?


I lost the will to live; I decided to end this charade crude

By sinking and escaping from this world of brutes

When suddenly I saw streams of light from above

Beckoning my life to touch the river shore

I realized it was a reminder from Heaven

Not to entomb my baby beloved



I swam across the tide willing to rebuild my life

My unborn child steered me towards a course right

I decided to focus ahead without emotional strife,

I am dreaming of a tomorrow vibrant, full of glee.

My little heaven would comprise of my seraphim and me

A new dawn would break and from past we would break free.


©Paromita Mukherjee Ojha, 11-12 April 2016





DAY 10
PROMPT: Where you would like the wind to take you?

O! Spirited wind, hear my plea

Take me to that land of majestic beauty

A wondrous place of lavender and honey
Where there is no trace of feelings puny
Let me trace once more his footprints on that ground
Where pure love did once abound
His fiery kiss that seared my soul
And left me in throes of passion untold
O! Once more on his lips let my lips unfold.

My lover, my nemesis
Your thoughts hold my body in an aroused stasis
You did not linger, you did not stay
Like a capricious star you vaunted on your milky way
My world since then has shriveled into dregs of grey
I opened my heart to welcome your charms
All you left me with was a turbid maelstrom
I release you from my heart a little everyday
So that you can follow your capricious ways
My unquenchable love coerces me to pray
For your return to my passionate hearth one day
Once more our bodies will fuse in mindless array
Swaying and writhing together in abandon gay.

© Paromita Mukherjee Ojha, 10th April 2016

Singed Visage



DAY 8 & 9

Prompt: Déjà vu & Cul-de-sac


Is that my face all over the news channel?
I look vacuously at the television panel
The walls of the hospital room –my prismatic prism
Witnesses now my apocalyptic stoicism
I shift on the bed to hear my travesty rewound minutely
That little voice inside my head whispers morosely
Why bother! You have heard it all before
Acquaintances old and new are now claiming to experience a déjà vu
Through my singed skin they are staking kinship with me anew
All ghosts from present and past reappearing on screen
While I am coping with the trauma of a face wiped clean
These ghosts are ticking off a list of who’s the possible attacker
What motive he had to be my beauty’s marauder!
They are endlessly blogging and logging my pain
Through twittering my face they are laying claim to instant fame
Encashing on my pain has become the new norm
Comparison is rampant of my old and new form
My soul crumples and withers a little everyday
My life has reached its cul-de-sac
My once colorful world Is smothered in shades of black
Should I drown in mire or open my soul a crack?
I pay heed to the voice in my head
My soul decides to arise from the dead
I volte-face and choose a new path to tread
Through my life I would now provide a numinous shade
To all victims of mindless acid attacks
I will extoll hope to rise through their soul’s cracks
I know strength of mind is all
That is required to claim our destinies back.
© Paromita Mukherjee Ojha, 8th -9th April 2016

The Blooming




Prompt: Murk

Anand babu trundled down the murky lanes

Of Sonagacchi where every room witnessed fleshly chains

Night after night new sojourners of Earthly dust

Visited the brothels in midnight wanderlust.


Anand babu’s steps halted at Pushpa’s door front

Pushpa, a bubbling fount of celestial realm

In the sulfurous muddy ensnared territory

Pushpa was a fallen star, a ravished dream


Pushpa could only sense his bleeding heart

While his wife enjoyed her time from him apart

Anand babu’s weary feet and heart draw sustenance

From Pushpa’s wisdom and divine countenance


Pushpa admonished Anand Babu to return from where he came

Lest, society put him into shame

She saw the goodness that burned within his soul

And felt the he should bestow love on a more worthy goal


She knew the empty, dark expanse of Sonagachhi’s space

Could only provide bestial pleasure to human race

Her forced existence would never bestow star-light

As society named women like her as a blight


Failing to put sense in Anand Babu’s love struck mind

Pushpa one day vanished into lanes blind

She could not let their lives get anymore entwined

The pure lotus of love that had blossomed in their hearts

Would sustain them till death blessed them with a new start.



© Paromita Mukherjee Ojha, 7th April 2016


P.s. A tribute to the movie ‘Amar Prem’





Evelyn Hope

Robert Browning (1812–1889)
BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead!
Sit and watch by her side an hour.
That is her book-shelf, this her bed;
She plucked that piece of geranium-flower,
Beginning to die too, in the glass; 5
Little has yet been changed, I think:
The shutters are shut, no light may pass
Save two long rays through the hinge’s chink.

Sixteen years old when she died!
Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; 10
It was not her time to love; beside,
Her life had many a hope and aim,
Duties enough and little cares,
And now was quiet, now astir,
Till God’s hand beckoned unawares,— 15
And the sweet white brow is all of her.

Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope?
What, your soul was pure and true,
The good stars met in your horoscope,
Made you of spirit, fire and dew— 20
And, just because I was thrice as old
And our paths in the world diverged so wide,
Each was naught to each, must I be told?
We were fellow mortals, naught beside?

No, indeed! for God above 25
Is great to grant, as mighty to make,
And creates the love to reward the love:
I claim you still, for my own love’s sake!
Delayed it may be for more lives yet,
Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few: 30
Much is to learn, much to forget
Ere the time be come for taking you.

But the time will come—at last it will,
When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say)
In the lower earth, in the years long still, 35
That body and soul so pure and gay?
Why your hair was amber, I shall divine,
And your mouth of your own geranium’s red—
And what you would do with me, in fine,
In the new life come in the old life’s stead. 40

I have lived (I shall say) so much since then,
Given up myself so many times,
Gained me the gains of various men,
Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes;
Yet one thing, one, in my soul’s full scope, 45
Either I missed or itself missed me:
And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope!
What is the issue? Let us see!

I loved you, Evelyn, all the while!
My heart seemed full as it could hold; 50
There was place and to spare for the frank young smile,
And the red young mouth, and the hair’s young gold.
So, hush,—I will give you this leaf to keep:
See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand!
There, that is our secret: go to sleep! 55
You will wake, and remember, and understand.


Prompt: Erasure Poem
EVELYN HOPE- Robert Browning
Beautiful Evelyn Hope
watch by her side
that is her book-shelf,
that piece of geranium-flower,
in the glass
The shutters are shut,
through the hinge’s chink.

Sixteen years old
her time to love
a hope and aim,
little cares,
now astir,
hand beckoned
sweet white

Evelyn Hope
pure and true,
The good stars met,
Made you of spirit
I was thrice as old
And our paths
Each was naught to each,
We were fellow mortals

for God above
to grant,
the love
for my own love’s sake!
for more lives yet,
Through worlds I shall traverse,
to learn,
Ere the time be come

the time will come
When, Evelyn Hope,
in the years long still,
That body and soul
I shall divine,
your mouth
with me, in fine,
In the new life

(I shall say) since then,
so many times,
Gained me the gains
Ransacked the ages,
one thing,
I missed
you, Evelyn Hope!

My heart
There was place for
the red young mouth,
So, hush
that is our secret: go to sleep!
You will wake, and understand.

© Paromita Mukherjee Ojha, 6th April 2016

p.s : Erasure is a form of found poetry or found art created by erasing words from an existing text in prose or verse and framing the result on the page as a poem. The results can be allowed to stand in situ or they can be arranged into lines and/or stanzas.

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A Blob of Flesh


Day 5

Prompt: Why Fret?

Oh! Why Maya, why fret

Overcome your dread

Think of your life ahead instead

It is nothing but a blob of flesh

Within an hour there would not be any trace

You know Maya, know it well

For babies right now in my life there is no place

You are aware my parents disapprove your caste, creed and race

Marriage in our live-in relationship was never an agenda

So don’t use this fetus now for your propaganda

Now don’t start crying Maya, go, get it done with, and be brave

The trolley was carted into the sterile murderous cave

Within minutes the throbbing life was nipped in the bud

Ripping the dreaming mother’s heart into million shards

The mutilated mother returned  to the house of the  upstart

For society till now she might have been a wanton harlot

But tonight she was the bereaved mother of a precious life lost

Maya fretted, she sweated, she regretted

She looked at her stomach and the umbilical cord truncated

She searched around the room agitated

Finally she let her neck rest against the rope elongated

A shove and  all her anguish forever subsided

The upstart carried on his life as if Maya never existed.

©Paromita Mukherjee Ojha, 5th April 2016

P.S..a little reminder to all including me that life is too precious to throw at away for somebody else’s selfishness. Love yourself, love your life

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