By Bharti Bansal
Maybe this world is Atwood's dystopia
Or some poet's failed prophecy about human hearts
That's why when they tell me to find a magic
I try to catch fireflies and store them in a jar
And watch them die
It terrifies Me, the small moths flying around light
For darkness hunts them like a grim reaper
Like it hunts us
Eating them slowly
Until next day I find these little dead bodies lying in my floor
Screaming darkness is lethal
That there is no beauty about someone losing himself to the dark
That there live people who wander with dead hearts and souls
Feeding on people like mosquitoes
Until they leave behind their marks forever
A toxic friend.
Perhaps when Maa told me that one day I would grow up
She actually meant that after a certain age I will stop finding magic
So when they tell me to find magic
I look at the palms of my mother
And see those lines setting the path of her Destiny to my happiness
I see her getting old like a time lapse video
Her wrinkles running from the corner of her eyes
Spreading throughout the face like a wave
Until they drench her with the realisation of growing distance between her and her daughter
There are times when she laugh like a lonely kid
Her smile doesn't reach her eyes
But loses itself midwhile
As if a vagabond unable to choose directions
My ears ache for her laughters
For they travel faster than the speed of light
And time runs backwards
Showing me the first time she became a mother
Holding her new born in her hands
As fragile as a glass vase kept in a windy room
Perhaps nothing reaches the light anymore
So when they tell me to find a magic
I look above at the dark sky
And wish upon satellite and stars
A reunion with good memories
Like the first time I won a prize
Or the time I failed a race but my friend failed too and it wasn't much of a misery then
The time when words fell from my mouth in a perfect combination
Or the time I became an orator
Mother tells me stars are dead people looking upon the alive
So i search for my grandmother
Because sometimes when the wind blows
I find her
Standing by my side
Gently Stroking my hair
And telling me stories about divs and jins
Her stories always end with a smile
For that's how I know
Good wins over evil
That evil is an absence
And goodness a presence felt as strongly as god for an atheist for the first time
When they tell me to find magic
I look all around
And see father standing
With dullness in his eyes and wide open arms
Father is good with numbers
He counts his painful memories like a rosary
And tells me how magicians are people trying to find the truth in surrealism
As if reality is a receeding wave
Leaving him dizzy
With nothing but a deepening pit under his feet
And salt on his wounds
Tell me to chant a magic spell
And I immediately look at the mirror
Staring back at me , reflection of a young girl
Who once decided that life had nothing in store for her
Who learnt young that
That perhaps magic is not pulling rabbits out of hat
But pulling oneself out from the rabbit hole
That one day the only Prince who comes riding a horse is reality
That friends are strangers when tragedies strike
Tell me to find a magic
And see her alive
Not Catching fireflies
But setting them free
From the broken bell jar of lost life
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This poem won in Instagram Weekly Contest held by @delhipoetryslam on the theme 'My Superpower'
This is really amazing!Well written!!
Awesome composition..congratulations
Beautiful😍💓.. Congratulations🎉🎊
Congratulations mam. .. keep it up and it’s worth winning😁
Hey!
Loved your poem and the flow. Also, the way it ended, you truly found magic.