Grief, perusal is compared to a tsunami, a capricious force against which we find ourselves enervated and drowning. Life seems to take an oblique course after being hit. Although if we come to the bend in the path with acceptance and pivot along, we can observe that our own inner strengths pull us through the difficult time. Sometimes letting up against the current and letting go is the way to stay afloat. Digging deeper and tapping into the calm within is a journey to realization of our inner buoyant nature.  

Below are five poems titled ‘Sauvignon Night’ along with handmade illustrations. No matter the cause of our woes, the feelings of loss and grief are universal. And any road up always ferrets through within.

Sarika Jaswani

BIO

Doctor by profession, Sarika Jaswani is a crochet artist, art tutor, and writer of children’s stories. A philanthropist at heart, she runs a non-profit by selling her fiber art on Etsy. She’s an art lover, bird lover, dreamer and blogger. A published poet who passionately reads and writes poetry. Her poetry has been well-received by various online literary magazines and anthologies.

‘Tide Rises Tide Falls’, On Medium- @ACG @Scrittura @MoveMePoetry, Fever of the Mind Poetry, Silver Birch Press, The Organic Poet, SpillWords, The Women Inc, Trouvaille Review, Antonym, HeronClanPoems, Synchronized Chaos, Silent Spark Press. A frequent VSS prompt writer on Twitter, her poems run on themes of love, reflection, and philosophy of life.  

SAUVIGNON NIGHT – POETRY & ART

I cut
my thumb
on sharp edges
of an old song

on my
tongue tip
I lick my
bleeding colors

I ride
the flow
ebb and tide of
a serrated knife

the irony
of staying afloat
in inaction

Your rock
breaks me in thousand pieces
each recall
needles in my throat

each moon
I glue my broken
every starlight defines
where scars have put me back together

each bloom, colors new cracks
fractures, parts I had never known 
a kaleidoscopic art
my grief of you

My words—rolls of silk fabric
I look for the right colors
to sew my pain

For once 
I want to lay flat 
the tapestry

that can speak volumes in colors
instead it turns out to be a mess  
of loose phrases and
unraveled utterances

So
I let this throb grow on me
like feathers on pigeon
and wait for my ache to take the sky

As if thoughts are a chow
and I, mouth of cattle
the obsession of my mind’s eye
for them is addictive

(This dalliance to constantly
chew on them)

Not all taste like sugarcane
some are wistful, most are downright bitter
But the machine press behind my eyes
insists to juice them

As if, by my will
passing time will bend
and sip the nectar of my wishes

With the sharp edge of kindred thoughts
I scrape off the color of my skin

slice the fleshy fibers beneath my fears
go deeper—

pry open the box of bones with beating desires
bloodied hands shrewdly search

hidden behind the opacity of years of ache
curled up in a corner

I find myself 
living an unbroken – contrasting life