Candles on our Window Sills
The illustration is of the window in my room and the view through it. I drew this and wrote the poem during the lockdown, when a massive storm, Amphan, hit the state of West Bengal and left my house (and surely several others) with no electricity and water for 5 long days.
Candles on our Window Sills
On thin ice of faith and hope
we hold hands and stand still,
our skins melting like boiling wax
like candles on our window sills.
we hold hands and stand still,
our skins melting like boiling wax
like candles on our window sills.
Every night we rest our heads
on pillows of stone and soaking sheets,
dreaming of days that once went by
with a sweaty palm placed underneath.
We toss and turn and stir and stir
we wait for leaves to blow a breeze,
the storm that caused our calm to break
deafened the world to all our pleas.
Through squinting eyes we then hail the sun
maybe today someone will hear our cries,
we hold back tears and steel ourselves,
oh, what did we do to pay this price?
But minutes go by and hours too
like yesterday and the day before,
no one comes to lend a hand,
our faiths have been shaken to the core.
We dread our lives as the sun sets down,
we dont pray anymore or beg for a sign,
as dark gets darker and black gets black
we question our truth in the divine.
we dont pray anymore or beg for a sign,
as dark gets darker and black gets black
we question our truth in the divine.
Our reverence to all the ones
who face this demon on every morrow,
it's a horror to think that a worse exists,
it's such a shame, it's a such a sorrow.
who face this demon on every morrow,
it's a horror to think that a worse exists,
it's such a shame, it's a such a sorrow.
Five days pass, feeling like a hundred
our patience lies fragile as a house of cards,
the summer heat and beads of sweat
pierce through us like broken shards.
our patience lies fragile as a house of cards,
the summer heat and beads of sweat
pierce through us like broken shards.
We gather courage for a last attempt
and rush to plead and make requests,
making words break through a stream of tears
it feels nothing less than a great conquest.
and rush to plead and make requests,
making words break through a stream of tears
it feels nothing less than a great conquest.
A gentle voice being made to raise
is what it takes to get back what's ours,
kindness and humility lie defeated
almost as if they've lost their powers.
is what it takes to get back what's ours,
kindness and humility lie defeated
almost as if they've lost their powers.
The living hell that we just saw,
we do not wish on the worst of men,
as pillows get soft and sheets cold
we rest our eyes and start dreaming again.
we do not wish on the worst of men,
as pillows get soft and sheets cold
we rest our eyes and start dreaming again.