Poems by Deepanjali Sinha

Forgotten Dream

a poem by Deepanjali Sinha

“I love him”, I love him”, I love him”,
I used to glow
Those sweet emotions used to flow
Of love, longing, desire, fire.
“Meet my wife” he addressed the crowd with a smile
In the beautifully landscaped garden of a club
“A girl from your village”!!, someone exclaimed,
Some smiled, some stood amazed, and others made a secret face
This was our reception day for which I had craved.

The celebration was hushed up soon
After we returned from our honeymoon,
My every effort to please him became futile
I lacked the qualities of a woman, I realised,
I scrubbed and cleaned and cooked and kneeled
But he never uttered a word of praise
Things went wrong unknowingly, without a trace.

In that shop, the other day
There was nothing to be angry upon, anyway
But he became very so,
Lost his temper and created a show
I felt so low.

The dinner had to be served before eight
I served with utmost care on his plate,
“Wrong combination”, “tastes not so good”.
These were his usual remarks on food
“Your are old fashioned”, “you need to be groomed”,
But he acted like a guest in his own bedroom,
His clothes must lie neatly on bed
Toilet sparkling
I ready to be lead.

Sweet words of love I waited to hear
For countless hours, days and years
Slowly I learned what thrilled him
What turned him into a mush
What emotions moved him
How and how much.
So when one day he said, “I love you”, in heat
A bubble of giggle almost choked me to death
To love and be loved.
Was it not my forgotten dream
“Oh yes”, I heard my heart scream
That very day, I left him forever
I could not stand his sight anymore.
Sensuous, refreshing and comfortable
Are the wings of freedom with which I soar.


a poem by Deepanjali Sinha

Finicky females falling for fashion
Fluid fanciful favouring a passion
Stylish socialites smartly stilted
Towards trendy tastes they are tilted
Bindis, beaded bags and vibrant bangles
Blouses and belts that are hot to handle
Skimpy string tied spaghetti tops are adored
Scarves, skirts, sarees have no score
Jodhpurs, jholas, jhali work and jewellry
Juvenile fashion is always heavenly
But who has devised this devastating fashion
Recklessly scanty obscene abomination
Hair dyed orange, pierced navel and fiery red lenses
Force family minded folks to face reality overbearing for senses
We waste our lives in wooing fashion
In careers, longings, needs, obsessions
In strategic scheme to accumulate wealth
Sometimes our strife stunt our health
But is it not very hot a fashion
To gather all kinds of possessions
What choices today are we facing
Either to race as the whole of mankind is racing
Or to lie content
And wait for the day to be spent
But hey, for those of you who are designers,
Those who are models and fashion signers
When these beautiful models sway their bodies sleek
I wish India, a happy India Fashion Week.


a poem by Deepanjali Sinha

Why do we suffer
What catches us unaware
Changes our course
For better or for worse
We never know from its source
But when the catastrophe begins
We hear our heart sing
A violent, shocking song
One misery raises its head after another
Ugly and grotesque
Swallowing everything that comes along
Hollowing passions and desires
Wishes trapped in a mesh of wires
Caged body
Heart full of pain
Like a flower, never blooming
Not even in rain
Shrinking heart
Drying and aching
Like leaves in the storm
Shivering and shaking
How long shall we wait
Wait for the golden dawn
Golden hour
How long shall we wait
Wait for the blissful shower
Is it forever…


a poem by Deepanjali Sinha

I need you…
Not so much to fill my emptiness
   As to help me know of my fullness,
Not so much to encircle me always
   As to let me be in the heaven of your embrace,
Not so much to hold you in weakness
   As to help me know of my strength,
Not so much to console me whenever I fail
   As to help me feel the need to succeed,
Not so much to flatter me with praise
   As to teach me to take notice of my faults,
Not so much to delve in the mysteries of self
   As to help me exercise the boundless powers of love,
Not so much to push you apart after every quarrel
   As to have the good sense to take the first step back,
I need you like a mountain needs a valley to be complete
The valley makes the mountain not less but more
Please come to me and fulfil my soul
Blessed and blissful then I shall be.