Featured Art Contributed by Neha Das

About an undulating sun on other side of the motorboat silhouette. The story were to be about honest isolations caged in a wishful oblivion. My arms were to feed on meaningful things – no bills, no quarters, no buns for that matter. Nothing inherited, no heart and so no aches. An unconventional seafarer, Mama – I would have been too tired to swim, not arrogant to float upon the saddled currents. If you were a star that jumped into the sea earlier. Then would I have sparkled, giving it back to the sky somehow – calm, free.


My days, fearless

Ceaselessly careless

Purposeful than planned

I would have been a-

Pacifier to itinerant vagaries

My glides, uncharted

Seeping towards anemone carpet

far-flung, in mood carnival

I would have been a-

Preacher to lazing barnacles

My steps, shallowed

On sands sallowed

Fumbled on cannibals and sandcastles

I would have been-

Wallowing, upon a two-faced pier

My existence, placid

Not tied, to relations flaccid 

Serendipitous affair, it bled no fear

Only if – you were a starfish, Mama,

One to comfort my clumsy tentacles.


ยฉSoumyadeep Mukherjee, 2017.


11 thoughts on “Unfound

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