Wednesday, January 28, 2015


A journey through places,
known and unknown.
A journey through time,
through moments untold.
A journey through people
Oh! How have they grown!
A journey through nerves,
of impulses and potential.
A journey through pain,
tears and expression.
This, the journey of faces,
masked and unmasked.

- Eisha

Friday, January 23, 2015

Two strangers

A wedding in progress,
two random strangers,
36 common friends,
still no conversation.

When 'hi's and 'hello's
die their certain deaths,
the two strangers
retrace their steps.

Four years later,
they meet in a world,
virtual and open,
unhindered, unnoticed.

Words turn to songs,
emoticons to expressions,
self-deprecation to humour,
and conversations long.

Boredom rears its head,
during that odd pause,
a new thought crouches in
and bludgeons it to death.

"How long will they talk?"
With a sigh, you ask.
Till it rains while the sun shines,
there are rainbows in their hearts.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015


An open window,
a long conversation,
two invisible friends,
a trail of emoticons.

A game of guesses,
words and expressions,
of curious heights
and silent depths.

- Eisha

Tuesday, January 20, 2015


“Let me in,”
a voice whispers,
a soft whisper,
a slow whisper.

I look at the door,
anxious and awake:
Who may it be
to come so late?

The sound vanishes,
like it never was,
the feeling of dread
creeps into me.

I tiptoe to the door,
a nervous shiver:
Who may it be
to come so late?

My warm hand
on the cold latch,
like fear grips
my weak heart.

The door's ajar,
my eyes wide,
my mouth open,
my fists tight.

- Eisha

Monday, January 19, 2015


Desert Valley: Watercolour on paper (Eisha Sarkar)


Darkness dawns this unearthly hour,
casting shadows near and far.
Fear and fury tear hope apart.
The devil smiles, playing his part.

I watch him, I fear him,
Many tales and talents,
attributed to him.
I worry, I wonder:
Am I in awe of him?

- Eisha

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

The dried riverbeds of Gujarat

I looked out of the window of the train I was travelling in and saw many dried riverbeds in Gujarat. This is a wax crayon and ink impression:

Wednesday, January 7, 2015

A new story

A new story,
I'm running late,
coffee in my hand,
my phone's busy.
I jump, I stumble,
run to the train.
The 7 o' clock,
I cannot miss it.
At the door,
an old lady steps out,
wrinkled and slow.
Impatient, I shout.
The lady smiles,
new lines form
her face softens,
makes me squirm.
I hop aboard,
the lady's still there,
waits for someone,
from somewhere.
The train moves on,
the editor calls,
“Where's your story?”
He gets no response.
I rest my head,
close my eyes,
I see the lady,
a new story.

- Eisha