Literary Yard

Search for meaning

‘A Tenant in the City of Rainbows’ and one more by Mamta Dorbi

By: Mamta Dorbi

A Tenant in the City of Rainbows

I came, a tenant,
In this city of rainbows,
The sun rises here,
At a circadian rhythm,
With sumptuous shades unknown,
At times glossy or aureate,
At others prismatic or lucent,
The flowers fragrant,
With tints abundant.

Grown up living the hues,
Of the misty temporal queues,
I encounter everyday on my vacation,
Labyrinthine mosaics of colouration.
While the frequency and fervour,
Of those tinges, I admire,
Often emanate in flickering contour.

Sometimes a pinch of pink,
Is Pink enough,
To interpret a whole untouched canvas.
While at others,
The whole sea of a red splash,
Not red enough to colour my lips.
Often the yellow, not so bright,
And the vigour of green lacks life.

The transparency, the mirror beholds,
Though plenteously clear,
Yet often seem so blur,
That it ask you to bespectacled,
Or to own a
Frame rimmed in golds,
To interpret the persona,
That the silvery paradigm holds.

The city, though colourful enough,
For life’s musings-bright and brim,
Yet often, lacks the eloquence,
Of the melancholic melodies,
The heart often lingers upon.

Nevertheless, a Question-
A per diem ofcourse!
Many of us survive upon,
So, I pose it to myself…
Do I dare to question,
The rhythm of life’s eternal harp?
Or instead learn to dance,
On its chatoyant strings,
With rainy tunes.

For I am a mere tenant,
In this dubious metropolis of VIBGYORs.


The Woman into the Mirror

Looking into the seemingly static,
But watery canvas,
Sitting unaffected before,
The sickly-stray soul,
Gazing into it with her
Eyes quite cavernous,
Introspecting, what she was missing,
In the glossy pane, for so long.

Today reacquainting,
An all-pervasive stranger within,
Unnoticed, rejected often,
And beautifully ignored,
Since a score more,
To her existence of two decades.
For she, a slave to norms,
Always perceived the woman,
Appearing into the exact,
And the so-called truthful,
Four cornered pane,
Casted cunningly,
As a procession in continuum,
Through the eyes of the One,
That intimately familiar,
The absolute One.

Affiliating to the stranger within,
She asked the shiny frame,
Of the whereabouts of
The valiant, the guest-self,
To which the mirror said nothing,
But shed a deluge of tears,
The tears, the hopeful rosy tears,
A paragon of a ceremonial obligation,
To wash off,
The ardent emotions, preserved.


Mamta Dorbi is a research scholar from India, who is currently pursuing her Ph.D. in English, from the University of Lucknow. A budding bilingual writer, who writes in Hindi as well as English. Her works of creative writing have been published on various e-platforms and journals including Muse India, The Criterion and Rhetorica Quarterly. Her area of research includes postgendered subjectivity in contemporary science fiction.

Leave a Reply

Related Posts