Paradise Lost

September 4, 2007 at 10:13 am 9 comments

A young woman, divine
in her glory that chimes in my mind,
standing naked,
as her world betrays her modest expectations,
mocking her gullible probity,
hurling lewd jibes at her beauteous breasts
it drank its first milk from.

Amidst the ruins of reeking blindness,
bruised by words, actions,
and their absence,
bleeding her last few drops of love and compassion,
aghast at her sterile faith,
she stands on the rubbles of her stillborn child.
Yearning for its clenched fist to move.

The fists, they were clenched.
Even in the safety of her womb.
Now they have lost their savage purpose.
The dead pupils and the acrid placenta
have achieved much more.
Worms in its dead crumbling spine coil
in promiscuous unison.

Her trembling, swollen hands
pull out a splinter from her heart.
A piece of broken glass
from the mirror in which she watched
her stomach swell in nine pristine months.
There still remains something divine
in those pungent ruins for her.

I see it.

The reflection of her face on that glass.
Beyond poignant.
A crumbling sadness,
a solitary pain that crunches her intestines
shatters that mirror. She falls.
Her effete being hovering on a fog, hiding the shame
of the child she never had.

© 2007 Ritwik Banerjee

Creative Commons License

Paradise Lost by
Ritwik Banerjee is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.

Entry filed under: emotions, literature, pain, Poetry, woman. Tags: , .

Atheism: a religion in its own right Flotsam

9 Comments Add your own

  • 1. spasmicallyperfect  |  September 4, 2007 at 5:04 pm

    Sometimes I wonder whether we need Tragedy in our lives to be able to write beautiful things.
    Seems your lines might be proof of this.

    Reply: I hate writing about sadness, but I am not good enough for anything better. At least not yet. I think creating powerful literature about happiness is far more difficult. Even among the greatest of writers such a work is rare. Please continue believing that we don’t need tragedy to write beautiful things. I believe it myself. And someday, I hope I can prove it.


  • 2. Janice Thomson  |  September 4, 2007 at 8:55 pm

    What a powerfully poignant piece Ritwik. One can only hope that when the pain subsides a piece of good will be found and clung to amid the tragedy. Bad does not come without its good side too but it is up to us to find it – therein lies the lesson to be learned. You have a way with words that resonates deep in one’s being.

    Reply: I want that too, Janice, I want that too. But, as I said in my reply to Spaz, I need to become a much better writer to actually be able to create an impact in the readers mind with joy as my only weapon. I don’t want pain to resonate . . . . I hope to successfully work my way towards creating a perpetually resonant happiness.


  • 3. S. Khan  |  September 5, 2007 at 7:23 am

    This is so powerful. So tragic yet so beautiful. Truly a great piece of work.

    Reply:Thanks Khan!! 🙂


  • 4. harmonie22  |  September 9, 2007 at 7:07 pm

    Ritwik, this is powerful stuff. Such raw emotion.

    Reply: 🙂


  • 5. Ritika  |  September 14, 2007 at 4:41 pm

    Reply in italics:

    This poem here is like Indian writers who havent stayed in India but write about it. Unlike other works this poem lacked that feeling. Maybe if u recite it it will have that. This is what i felt.

    That actually hurts. Because this is very personal image that arose from pains I felt over years.

    other than that the poem’s creativity cannot be ignored. There is something about your style which says that its true to its origins yet is evolving. I hope you don’t take my criticism in a bad light.

    I sum up by commenting on the beatiful ability of using such profound imagery. The relation with mirrors was really appreciable[is that a word?].

    Yes, appreciable is a word! Don’t worry! 🙂 I think the reason you could not appreciate this poem totally is its broken rhythm. It rests on odd numbers at places. In spite of not putting a conscious effort, the stanza roams around 9, 7 and 11 syllables.

  • 6. Ritika  |  September 16, 2007 at 12:45 pm

    oh.please..i did not wish to hurt…….

    i added sometimes words need a proper recital to get into dumb brains like mine……that voice of pain….maybe i doesnt come in me for this one….but i can hear ur voice then it would seem complete……thats wat i think cud b a possibility……

    its not a problem with u…it mite b me…..i try to understand…

    Reply: From your comments I can tell that whatever your brain is, it is not dumb. But what you say is quite true. The voice of pain is not something that penetrates everyone. Even that voice differs in its reach as it differs in its tone, pitch, etc. I am immune to certain pains perhaps because I have never felt it in my life. You are, similarly, untouched by few others. It is the greatness of an artist who is able to make the voice reach to even those people who have not felt it. Understandably, I am not such a great artist. Not yet.


  • 7. brahnamin  |  September 27, 2007 at 5:42 pm

    very well said.

    i don’t know you or the things you have been through in your life (some of the other comments seem to indicate perhaps the others do) but that was a very beautiful piece.

    whether you intended it or not, it evoked images of the world in my mind, and the natural beauty that we have raped and continue to rape in the name of modern comfort and convenience.

    i don’t say that is what you intended, merely that that is what grew in me from reading it.

    Reply: I am overwhelmed. I really am. And I feel downright stupid to have had fought with you a few hours ago. Never has it happened to me that an acquaintance that begins with disdain, crosses over to respect and admiration. Your reading of my poem is quite precise. It does portrait the theme of destruction. I have always been pained by lack of beauty. That pain is what I have tried to depict in this poem.


  • 8. evergreen leaves « j u g g l i n g C a t s  |  September 27, 2007 at 6:40 pm

    […] paradise lost […]

  • 9. Soumya  |  June 19, 2008 at 12:17 pm

    And indeed pain is what you depicted here Sir.Lets not go for neatness and make rules for poetry.Its as freeflowing and casual as a vagabond and as bohemian as our minds are.

    Why do we need to restrict it withing beautification of visual satisfactions.

    talk of reaching the hearts and its right up there…So is the title.

    Reply: ‘as bohemian as our minds are’ . . . . now that’s a beautiful thing to say! In fact, such thoughts can lead to newer poetry.



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