Snata Basu
Snata Basu is a writer based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Her poetry has appeared on numerous literary platforms including The Opiate, Visual Verse: An Online Anthology of Art and Words and Small World City.
Snata Basu is a writer based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Her poetry has appeared on numerous literary platforms including The Opiate, Visual Verse: An Online Anthology of Art and Words and Small World City.
You have made ice out of my heart;/ we were once nothing–you brutalise me
rise, rise—now evening dies: sun-born in valleys with burning olive trees—where women like me plod one day at a time,
I am put away impulsively like the totems on a modern alter
On the heart of a place where heather blossoms, Dreams of scattered bodies and burnt heath Against the walls where children live
And along with our bodies, the rage keeps on, / we chafe and bleed and clot and steer; / we go mad and nude
from my blood fangs, disarrayed cold / looting my sore body / that has done so much for me, while I ached
This is a garden, these are my petals; this is my armoring plant
You have made ice out of my heart;/ we were once nothing–you brutalise me
rise, rise—now evening dies: sun-born in valleys with burning olive trees—where women like me plod one day at a time,
I am put away impulsively like the totems on a modern alter
On the heart of a place where heather blossoms, Dreams of scattered bodies and burnt heath Against the walls where children live
I look in the mirror, and the tides start turning,
And along with our bodies, the rage keeps on, / we chafe and bleed and clot and steer; / we go mad and nude
from my blood fangs, disarrayed cold / looting my sore body / that has done so much for me, while I ached
The burst of fragrant marigolds on the blanched porch of our old Calcutta home, free like sand, unbridled like the wind
We walk past the singing bells and our chambers, Blind to the perils beyond our walls.