SEVENTH BIRTHDAY
The cake was an ice-pink
arctic teddy bear.
Seven colorful slender candles
shone like northern lights.
I, in a powder-pink frock,
became the moon fairy.
Every year,
the ice melts
Like frozen milk
in an old pail
under the sun
growing hotter.
Nowadays, I am unable to
bake a cake in my dreams--
always sour,
beginning to curdle.
NAMES
Why should I think of yesterdays?
Yesterday my name was Mahtab.
Yet, I dreamt my name was
Criseyde the Wronged One
and woke up with
rage streaming down
my face.
I could light a joint
and set the years
up in a blaze
and watch them crumble
like paper to black powderÉ
Today you call me a Poet.
Imagine a woman, daily burn
her elegies with coal on
an earthen stove.
Her lyrics, sharp as diamonds,
emerge dazzling on each page.
© Jagari Mukherjee
Bio: Jagari is a poet from Kolkata, India, who been featured on
Eskimo Pie in July 2018. Her chapbook, Between Pages (Cherry House Press, 2019)
and her full-length collection,
The Elegant Nobody (Hawakal Publishers, Kolkata) are available on Amazon.com.