two poems

by Sreelekha Chatterjee

Daily Reincarnations

Every morning, the day gets ready

for me to face life’s bumps.

Phenomenal, I shed off the dirt

that shrouds me in a coffin-like shawl.

Though I never profit, or return to the

basic elements of the earth,

I envisage myself facing the world,

putting myself out there

where shadows lie in ambush.

The stubborn soil falls off me like burnt clay,

my mind brooding, perhaps in need,

cooking up thoughts;

body shivering with fiery breath.

I sprinkle salt like a mile of sea

to remove the evil eyes,

the leech-like suckers

drain completely the esoteric inside me;

the brine coerces them to vomit into my wounds.

I roll this boulder up the hill

every day for eternity,

only to have it rolled back.

The next morning, I meet my reflection as a stone.

A river inside—unparalleled

with countless identities—remains

an eidolon, carves

through my gravelly mountain,

my compass pointed towards North.

Unaware, I leave myself to the dirt,

for the grass to grow for ages and ages,

till the beaten troops in me

emerge out of the war,

with a resolve to wind up the promulgating tasks.

Much with Water

My inside an ocean of water—

the swirling, spurting, riding—

no rudder, no keel, no hull

yet supported, held like a floating whale.

Watery in action, watery in emotions—

brain, heart, lungs, skin, muscles,

kidneys, bones—images seated within,

mirroring their masts.

Pure water—colorless, odorless,

tasteless—assumes all when mixed

with my inner matter.

I subsist on water,

manage the well-being of my boat,

its alterations, tunings my occupation

as long as I am buoyant.

Dissolves almost everything,

even sudden shocks to the brain and spinal cord

like dismantling threats to established faith;

shapes saliva; greases joints;

 carbs and protein haulage in

the circulating stream overseen by my brain.

Less fatty tissue, more water;

more fatty tissue, less water—

I wander to where the earth and sea meet.

Stickiness from surface tension

assists in the hauling of nutrients,

likewise waste is discarded unhindered,

as coffee dregs at the bottom of a cup,

bereft of any confusion.

Sweating and respiration comply,

regulate my internal temperature,

my belief an act of preference, controlled by my mind,

my mind a reflection of the moon in still water—

the mirror ripples, disassociates

as if a watery mist that wanes in vapor.

My vessel commands swiftly like modern ways

of instantaneous communication.

Its statement manifests in the pellucid water unreached,

I haven’t passed the mighty ocean,

my realities remain unseen.

Photo of Sreelekha Chatterjee

BIO: Sreelekha Chatterjee is a poet from New Delhi, India. She writes about her quest to discover the unseen realities in the mundane day-to-day activities. Her poems have appeared in Setu, Verse-Virtual, The Wise Owl, Ghudsavar Literary Magazine, Porch Literary Magazine, Orenaug Mountain Poetry Journal, Creative Flight, Pena Literary Magazine, Everscribe, and in the anthologies—Light & Dark (Bitterleaf Books, UK), Whose Spirits Touch (Orenaug Mountain Publishing, USA), and Christmas-Winter Anthology Volume 4 (Black Bough Poetry, Wales, UK), among others.