On Exploring Poems While Passing by My Alma Mater, a Poem
By S. Rupsha Mitra
It is a Monsoonal day, the season of entwining the damp attic heart with brazen nostalgia, seasoned mildew scent and remembering the only old love – ineffably effervescent. In the brewing blight, memory. I walk down Bally Lane, exploring the poetry perhaps inscribed in the walls of my neurons suddenly spurring to cling onto this feeling, longing. I allow myself again to slip in the cadence of shimmering breeze, the rustle, shivering leaves inviting rain. I am again in the country of longing, my mucky being leaping into the sense, an alien belonging, my Alma Mater blued and glistening with a blanket, glittering lucent lamppost light, making me rummage through heaps of scattered past, each a poem of love, poesy of drowning in the blight of devotion, the edged-outness of the self, broken promises, lust and daring disgust. I sit by the shed, the bus stop ahead, as the certain smell of mitti evokes a soiled wetness. What could I do then, as a poet often does, I absorb the vastness of the space, the lanolin warmth and gnawing demands of the heart and the incessant zest, incurable waters stroking my dried epidermis, parched lips and tired veins, I encode the picturesque poem of the moment in the imaginings of the sky, to philosophize, and rehearse the distilled experience until I am back home, contemplating, walking through the alleys of my senses to let this poem breathe out belief, the safe keep in the bosom of my nest.
Meet the Writer
S. Rupsha Mitra is a student from India with a penchant for everything creative. Her writing can be found in literary magazines like Birmingham Arts Journal, North Dakota Quarterly, and Mekong Review. Discover her latest books, poems, and essays on her website.
