Pankhuri Sinha

Pankhuri Sinha (1975) is an Indian poet, writer and translator. She has published several books: ‘Koi-bhi-Din’ and ‘Kissa-e-Kohinoor’, two books, both collections of literary stories published in 2005 and 2008, by Gyanpith, a reputed name in Hindi literary publishing; Prison Talkies, a collection of poems, published by Xlibris, Indiana, July 2013; ‘Dear Suzannah’, second collection of poems published by Xlibris, Indiana, 2014; Collection of poems in Hindi, ‘Raktim Sandhiyaan’, published by Sahitya Bhandar, and launched in Delhi world book fair 2015; Second Collection of Hindi poems, ‘Bahas Paar ki Lambi Dhoop’ published by Bodhi Prakashan in 2017; Third Collection of Hindi Poems ‘Pratyancha’, published by Bodhi Prakashan, in Nov 2018. Awards: Bihar Sahitya Sammelan Shatabdi Samman, by the Bihar Unit of Sahitya Academy, India, March 2019; honoured by the International Jan Lekhak Sangh, Nepal, June 2018; Pandulipi Puraskar, by Bihar Rajbhasha Vibhag, May 2018; first prize for poetry by Rajasthan Patrika, Jaipur, January 2017; Rajeev Gandhi Excellence Award for creative writing in Hindi, June 2013. She currently Teaches in the department of Hindi and History, at undergraduate, graduate and post-graduate level in a govt. college in Bihar, India, as guest faculty.

Cat Sleeps

 

The cat has slept many sleeps

Before Noon

By which time

I have just conquered my anger

Conquered or barely so

For I am so compelled to touch the cat

Hold it against my ravaged body

For he brings such relief

And knows

For often

Seems to say

Allowed

Are your caresses

Your kisses

Granted

In the manner of the lords

Completely permitted

For your sake alone

Even as he likes them

And says so

And purs

But right now

Having slept

Those many sleeps

God knows which ones

Dreamless sound sleeps

God knows

Been where

What, if at all

Cats dream of

Academics can tell you

And so can the cat

For it has different moods

Different times

Drool sometimes

As he sleeps

Completely curled up

Neck apart at times

Mad

If you poke your finger

Rules of touching

Kept with bites

Rules of touching

Defied in comebacks

In comebacks so glorious

So committed

Mind blowing it is

To find the cat

Once again

On top of your bed

The comforter

That is.

Rules of touching

Defied in strange allowances

Made by the cat

It’s the view

From the tree top

From the hill top.

From the cat in my lap.

From being with the cat

The view

Acquired together.

 

Cat Touches

 

And around he comes

Making friends again

Extending an arm of friendship

No paws extended

No claws

Not even his voice

Its just that look of silence

And what a look it is

Says so much more than

Please

Won’t you please

Try, its very satisfying

And she knows

Its not just the licking of the fingers

The man beast encounter

Its so much more

But right now

The look

Deepening every minute

When she just cannot

Cannot afford

Is making her want to breastfeed

And she cannot tell the cat

How much she loves

And the cat goes to his owner

Opens his mouth

And meows and meows

Like children complain

Like children act

And I just sit there

Wanting to feed and breastfeed.

 

 

 

How They Tracked
My Reading

 

How they tracked my reading

Sending somebody

Slightly suspicious                                                                   

With a visible compromised presence

Provoking questions

Taking away the comfort of the moment

As I lingered over my book

Lingered slightly longer

Than the time

They had estimated

Or allotted

To everyone

Including those

Coming back to reading

After long years

Gap years

As they say

But it was what that method of tracking did

To those returning

From say

Even a big major accident

And now being pushed into

A new kind of medical politics

Having been told

About the prospect of defective child birth

Giving birth to a deformed baby

Being told all alone

All alone

With the book reading

And on such an evening

Dark and gloomy

When all was so bright

Only you had been put through

Amazing processes of people talk

Of critics cleansing

Of all your action having been reduced to foolishness

How the beauty of the flower

Was completely destroyed

With its cunning

Conniving usage

Language wars

That made the remembrance day poppies

So hard

Just that

And more layers

Of espionage filled talk

Because the flower in your language

Phonetically resembled

The fool

From all foolish actions

Or actions made foolish

So hard to describe

What the lovely flower now did

As people simply wore them

On their coats

Specially as they carried

Further strange messages.

Further symbols of old battle fronts

Trenches

Signs, as a sign language spoken

In the middle of a war.