:: Beena E. S.
Passion Aflame
a wintry dark night;
dreams and desires entwine.
an aura of urgency wraps around,
longing and passion walk hand in hand.
an intoxicating world unfolds;
the rhythmic pulse,a tender delight.
a fiery spark ignites,
the gentle, tight embrace,
passion’s flame.
breaths rich with warmth whisper near, a hissing sea’s refrain,
the ebb and flow, soothing, soft rain.
the elixir of life;
lips vanish in shadows, mysteries untold,
a symphony of senses, a story unfolds.
like waves that grace the shore with a kiss,
the silken skin
awakens the secrets of the soul’s sweet song.
a thread of warmth crawls between the thighs,
a cosmic mystic flow, wriggles and twirls,
craving more…
The Inevitable Journey
in the silence of the twilight
yielding to time’s eternal flow,
beyond the galaxies to the land of immortals;
in the hollowed steps, bidding farewell,
to the battles fought, the transient dreams dreamt;
to the joys shared, the tears shed;
to the hopes held; the spinned tales;
to the love; the care, entwined bonds,
to the beating heart, once strong and bold,
to the rhythmic twitching of veins.
fame and fortune, like mist, dissolve away,
power and pride held high
rustle underfoot;
fiery passions bow to shadow’s reign,
emotions fade.
life’s icy hold,
in darkness a mystic shroud of emptiness descends,
in the depths where mysteries roam,
an unknown force murmurs
unknown, unknown.
its whispers eerie, and haunting,
a solitary journey to the land unknown…
An Indian Railway Station…
five o’clock, the sun’s orange glow fades,
shadows stretch long across the tracks,
the station hums with relentless haste,
trains glide through with thunderous cracks.
iron wheels grind on metal stones —
brakes hiss, wheels screech, air vibrates and groans.
“train number 82376, platform 3, arriving soon,”
announcements crackle through the air.
footsteps echo on weathered stones—
sandals slap, leather shoes tap,
a symphony of soles in motion shared.
“chai, coffee, samosa!—”
chaiwallahs call out through sharp breezes,
steaming tea, mingled with cardamom, ginger, and spices.
vendors line pathways, their voices blend,
oranges, bananas, and guavas ripe,
fresh mangoes, juicy, for one eighty,
marigolds, roses—a cubit of jasmine,
twenty rupees for strings of scented beauty,
echo from earnest hearts within.
an old porter drags bags with weary hands,
a sea of people, shifting like sands.
a boy of twelve shouts, “newspapers, just four rupees!”
bangles clink on rushing women’s wrists,
handbags slung from shoulders swift,
some clutch veggies in polythene bags,
greens, lady fingers and gourds peek through.
weary eyes, tired legs, tanned faces,
telling tales of struggle, joy half-won.
children dart through crowds with laughter bright,
mothers pull them close, guarding from night.
lovers whisper secrets as they part,
an old woman clutches beads, prayers from the heart.
beggars roam, hands outstretched, eyes pleading,
whispers of broken pride and need unheeding.
some seek alms with heads bowed low,
others’ fingers search, hoping coins will flow.
shouts and chatter weave in endless streams,
diverse stories, hopes, and distant dreams.
from every corner, cultures meet,
a vibrant mosaic beneath the fleet.
echoes of conversations, laughter, and cries,
a bustling place where each life flies.
trains rumble, wheels resound,
life surges and ebbs through chaos all around.
in this vibrant, tumultuous space,
unspoken dreams and stories grace each face.
night falls, the station’s pulse slows to a hush
rhythms fade but never cease—
a brief pause until dawn revives the restless peace.
Beena E. S is an Assistant Professor in the Department of English
at Nesamony Memorial Christian College, Marthandam.
She has published a novel titled “Thorns of Love.”
Additionally, her numerous poems have been featured in
reputable platforms, including Indian Periodicals, RIC journal,
and the Wingword Long List 2023. One of her poems also appeared in the December 2023 issue of Beetle magazine.
