“A Circus of Emotions”

I always dreamt of having a book of poetry to my name, someday. But I never thought that the day would come so soon.

Pseudosynth Press, in the month of October, had approached me to publish a book of poetry with them. At first I was skeptical and bound in the chains of inhibitions, but as soon as I overcame my doubts and agreed to their proposition… boy was it a joyous ride!

You don’t always get good people in the journey of life, but when you do, you must keep them forever. That was the case with Jackie Pappas and CG BLade, angels in disguise, people behind the Pseudosynth Press franchise, who helped me and guided me at every step of the walk to become a published author. Wait! Walk? No, run!

Haha!

And how can I forget, my amazing-marvelous-gorgeous-badass biker chick of an editor. Cindy Calloway is one of the coolest people I’ve met out there, and trust me I’ve met loads of people. The amount of time and brainstorming Cindy and I spent on the book itself was very enlightening and educating. I got to learn so much from her, so much, and thence she became my idol. (Those who know me know well that I want to work in a publishing house in future.)

So yes, the deed’s done; the book’s out; and, it still feels like a dream. Of course, THE dream came true, but it’s still so hard to believe!

To see your name in print, on the cover of a book, is a joy of its own. Now about the book – here’s the blurb:

“‘A Circus of Emotions’ is a poetry collection and a window to the poet’s journey into disillusionment. From the bliss of innocence to the pangs of adulthood, the poems contain a subtle hint of the harsh truths and realities of life. The imagery is stark, appeals to your senses, and whispers in your ears the disenchanting incantations of the world. The poems talk of love, hate, indifference, hope, dreams and everything in between – it takes a unique stance at the essence of our existence. This collection might make you uncomfortable or shatter your complacent view of life!”

To know more about me or the book or both, scoot over to http://www.pseudosynthpress.com/

Need a chat, I am here! :  https://www.twitter.com/ShefaliBanerji/

https://web.facebook.com/authorshefali

https://www.instagram.com/weaving_poetry/

You can find the book here : http://www.amazon.com//dp/1541063538

And here: http://www.lulu.com/shop/shefali-banerji/a-circus-of-emotions/paperback/product-22980350.html

Cheers!! 😀

KINGDOM OF LIES

My entire childhood

Was a lie.

I grew up in a maze of lies;

In a thick cloud of untrue

Realities, of possibilities

Which were impossible

In their own way, of false

Assurances that veiled

The harsh truths of life.

 

At four, when the nurse said,

‘It won’t hurt’,

And punched that big needle

Into my arm,

It was a lie.

It did hurt.

 

At six, when mother convinced me

That the tooth fairy would replace

Those fallen pearls with rewards,

It was a lie.

My father did.

 

At nine, when father assured

That I won’t fall,

And let go of that bicycle,

It was a lie.

I did fall.

 

At sixteen, when elder sister

Retorted,

‘You won’t understand a thing’,

And slammed

The bedroom door, with

Tears in her eyes,

It was a lie.

I knew everything.

 

At sixteen, when the lover

Held my hand,

And promised a ‘forever’

With a peck on the lips,

It was a lie.

It wasn’t meant to be, ever.

 

At twenty, when my brain

Tells me I have grown up,

My heart counters,

‘It is a lie,

You have yet to see the world!’

 

My entire existence

Has been a lie.

It was a lie,

Is a lie,

And will be a lie eternally;

Even when I cease to be.

 

________________________________________________________________

Shefali Banerji

http://www.instagram.com/weaving_poetry

Image Source: Internet

WHO AM I?

Who am I?

Am I the heartbroken dame standing by the window

Trying to catch a final glimpse of her lover before

He goes out to the war? Or the rebel lady

In denims and boots, puffing away the cares of

The world, wearing a mask of nonchalance,

Concealing the hurt of her heart?

Perhaps I am the little child playing at the curb,

Oblivious of the sin of Adam, whose burden his kind

Still bears. Surely, I am not the reflection I see

In the mirror. The reflection is tainted. I deny it.

 

I think I know who I am.

Weaver of words, creating beautiful patterns on paper,

Using the pen as my agent, celebrating the tales

Of life.

 

Did you like my tapestry?

 

________________________________________________________________

Shefali Banerji

http://www.instagram.com/weaving_poetry

Image Source: Internet

The Choked Friendship

 

I remember my school days.

Me and my best friend.

Best friend of six years.

We would talk on the phone, in the bus, in class, during breaks,

In extra classes, on the streets, at each other’s place,

Over text messages,

And yet we couldn’t put an end to our conversations –

Chattering, bickering,

Lamentations and regrets.

 

Now three years have passed.

Everything seems to have come to a standstill.

After the initial exchange of pleasantries,

We do not have much to talk about.

We think and think and think

And brainstorm over things that might click,

But nothing comes up.

All empty.

 

Isn’t it funny though?

We have so much going on in our lives,

So much more than what was, three years ago;

And still we have nothing to say.

Empty.

All empty.

 

We have lost the ‘connect’.

We have lost the reason to connect.

We are selfish beings.

We have no use for each other.

Indifference.

Everywhere.

Where is the friendship?

Hiding behind the facade?

Behind the “busyness” of life?

Or has it collapsed?

 

________________________________________________________________

Shefali Banerji

http://www.instagram.com/weaving_poetry

Image Source: Internet

The Unwanted Child

Do you know who an unwanted child is?

Conceived,

But not really wanted.

Born into the world, however,

Out of social obligations.

 

Do you know who an unwanted child is?

The one not really loved,

The faulty one,

The one who is looked down upon,

The one who is neglected,

The one who repulses others;

That child is an unwanted child.

 

Do you know who an unwanted child is?

That who is compared to the elder one every day,

The lesser one,

The shame,

The one who is part of the family picture,

But not really part of the family;

That is the unwanted child for the world to see.

 

Do you know who an unwanted child is?

The child no one asked for, of course,

The unwelcome member,

The burden of the house,

The one everyone wishes was

Gagged, or mute, or ignorant,

Or dead.

 

Do you know who an unwanted child is?

Well, how would you know.

You’re not the one.

The unwanted child, I mean.

How indeed would you know!

No one really does,

Except for that one,

That unwanted child.

 

But still, you might wonder,

Who an unwanted child is.

Curiosity is a dangerous thing.

It kills the cat.

It won’t kill him though!

That one,

Yes, the unwanted child.

So let me give you a clue;

Well,

Perhaps,

The one who quits?

 

________________________________________________________________

Shefali Banerji

http://www.instagram.com/weaving_poetry

Image Source: Internet

Death Almighty!

On 31st March, a tragedy befell Kolkata – my beloved City of Joy, as an unfinished bridge, the Vivekananda flyover, collapsed over a busy road, killing many.While some others are severely injured and some still trapped under the debris. The pain and sadness of the entire incident and the consequent shock and uneasiness that gripped me gave birth to this piece.

 

The bridge collapsed,

And so did many lives –

Crushed under the debris,

Oblivious of their fate.

 

Death doesn’t discriminate.

It visits both the rich and the poor –

Death’s unwanted attention

Showered upon the innocent

And the unsuspecting,

Busy in the humdrum of life.

 

A fatal accident,

A tragedy,

One stroke,

And all’s over.

 

And we – we spend our lives

Worrying,

Contesting,

Lamenting,

Complaining –

Ignorant.

 

While Death

Watches over us,

Smirking smugly,

Stroking his diabolical sceptre,

Laughing at the futility of human toil

And the vanity of human aspirations.

 

________________________________________________________________

Shefali Banerji

http://www.instagram.com/weaving_poetry

Image Source: Internet

Poison Ivy

Don’t look, don’t look my child,

It’s a pathetic spectacle –

The demise of the big blue marble.

Crash.

Tumble.

Burn.

Do you hear it whimper?

Listen, but don’t look.

 

Sip it, sip it.

Sip the red of my toil.

How does the wine taste?

That’s my blood you drink.

Do you choke now?

Why do you look so bewildered, my child?

It’s but the remnants of

What you haven’t devoured already.

 

Treason, you cry?

No, I haven’t deceived you.

It’s karma hitting you back,

Ascended on its blue-eyed unicorn,

Smirking as it strangles you.

Why do you beg for mercy now?

I told you not to look;

You disobeyed.

Here’s the fruit of your transgression.

 

You stumble and reach for the door.

‘Oh, but it is secured.’

It is locked forever, my child;

You are trapped.

There’s horror in your eyes.

The poison is spreading now.

I sit across the room

On my cactus throne,

Tossing down the whiskey,

Pleased to see you suffer.

 

The countdown has begun,

You grow weak,

And as the clock stops

And unleashes its demonic fangs,

You explode.

There are bits and pieces of you

Scattered all over the floor.

I crouch down

And pick up what amuses me the most.

It’s your darkened heart.

It’s all I ever wanted.

 

________________________________________________________________

Shefali Banerji

http://www.instagram.com/weaving_poetry

Image Source: Internet