The Moratorium by Himanshu Ranjan

Himanshu Ranjan | Jun 27th, 2020 | poetry | No Comments


I am a woodpecker –
my bleeding blacksmith
continues to chisel out
the hard metamorphic
invisible crust.
the light haunts,
the tea needs warmth and
lacks a stir.
my skull feels the
outside pressure.
I try to rinse out the mind,
longing for the juicy copra
whose taste remains forgotten.
but all that drips out is an
unsettling red booze
sniffing my failures.
I mine deeper,
but the helplessness grows
like water hyacinth.
It is against the norm to be naked,
surrounded by cave walls,
cussed smiles, a thread of pictures,
and burning questions.
– illusions, expectations, good-byes,
and moribund selfishness.
the tools of words are rendered
the lips remain sealed,
the lifeless womb stares.
my native tongue triggers a signal
that I honestly
waded through this shallow depth.
I take a long breath
and though I desire to mine deeper,
I retrace my path.
It was a very very short journey.
very very troublesome.
my mind like a dormant volcano
may erupt any other day.
I just need to wait!

Poet Bio

Himanshu Ranjan lives in Nashik, Maharashtra. He is a poet and a Young India Fellow. His anthology is titled ’36 Love Stories’ in which he has composed thirty-six sonnets and a sestina. His poems have appeared or forthcoming in ‘Eunoia Review,’ ‘Poetry Potion,’ ‘Scarlet Leaf Review,’ and Indrdhanush.’ He loves teaching chemistry.

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