Minal Sarosh is
a post graduate in English Literature. She has a collection of
her poems Mitosis and Other Poems published by Writers Workshop,
Kolkata in 1992.
She has won awards in All India Poetry Competition 2005 of The
Poetry Society (India) Delhi, Creative Writing Competition 2006
of Unisun Publications, Unisun Publications and Reliance Timeout
Book club Awards, 2007, SMS Poetry Competition 2007 and 2008 at
the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival, Mumbai
Many of her poems have been anthologized in: Indian Literature,
(Sahitya Academy,) Delhi Journal of Poetry Society (India) Delhi
Chandrabhaga’ (Edited by Jayanta Mahapatra) ‘Emerging Voices’
(The Poetry Society India) ‘Voices of Hope’ (The Poetry Society
India) ‘The Silken Web and Winners Vol III’ (Unisun
Publications), ‘I Me Myself’, Winners of the Unisun-Reliance
Timeout Poetry Contest 2005 (Unisun Publications, Bangalore),
‘Mosaic’ (Unisun Publications), ‘Soul Feathers’ (Indigo Dreams
Publishing Ltd, U.K.) ‘These My Words’ The Penguin Book of
Indian Poetry (2012)
Besides, her poems have also appeared in online journals like
Muse India, Asia Writes, Danse Macabre, Other Voices
International Project, The Brown Critique and Nether.
Her short form poetry (haiku, tanka, senryu) have been published
in online journals like Muse India, Haiku News, World Haiku
Review, unFold, Four and Twenty journal (June 2012 Vol 5 Issue
6) and The Four Quarters Magazine.
She lives in Ahmedabad, India.
The Silent Window
And usually in this empty silent hour,
a glass window, closed to the world
but open only to my eyes,
I begin to think.
Of pointed upturned bull horns
when words furiously rush in my face.
Or of a stubborn umbrella, stuck,
like a thought which sometimes
refuses to open, in the rain.
And of the ball with which
the neighbor’s child shatters the window,
and suddenly I see through the jigsaw
glass shards, haloed images.
While it’s worst when emotions
want to remain bottled up, then I think
of the straw, rolled up paper to pull out
effervescent thoughts, sip by sip.
But always it’s easiest to think of metres
as strolling on the shore where they gently
come wave after wave to wet my feet,
and unknowingly the sand sticks,
and I carry the sound of rising sentences.
When poetry becomes restless…
I just can’t stop whistling and whistling,
an eagle hovering like a thought.
I can’t wait for this winter to thaw.
Look, flying high, I’m so drunk on words,
Bloated clouds, ready to burst, collide,
and strike the page with my lighting beak.
Here, at the back of my mind,
I hear the koel calling, see, raw mango cheeks
have at last turned to sunshine yellow.
my whistling pen, can’t hold its breath,
my claws fervent, want to alight , grasp,
and nest into a poem
With just an idea, a glimmer,
How do I add clouds to this sky?
Without which it looks at me blankly,
Incredulously, like a baby, surprised.
Come, wear these clothes, dear!
Here, push your fluffy head out,
Stretch out these feathery arms.
My thoughts come on, wear these clothes.
Let me pick you up in my arms.
Come on my poem, just smile for me
Let me see the dimples, in your cheek
Oh Earth why is it that we never hear you sigh,
breath of fog, weary to spin another day!
Or ever raise your voice and complain,
quarrel with birds to rest on twilight branches,
under the weight of squatting, stubborn boulders,
akimbo mountains and elevated buildings.
Or ever see you leaning with wrinkled hands,
grasping tree trunks like granny’s stick!
And how lightly you carry the oceans on lashes,
a tear which will not spill waters of centuries.
Round and round, do you ever feel vertigo,
with blurring vision of a top or obsessed carousal.
Or ever overwhelmed by the generations
sleeping in your limbs, under never aging skin.
I really don’t know. But Oh, unfaltering Earth!
As long as you go on and on, don’t skip a step,
you will be my womb, you comforting dust,
and in you will not be my end, but my beginning.