Three Poems by  Bobbi Sinha-Morey

These three poems by Bobbi Sinha-Morey explore the poet’s darker ruminations about life while considering how each reverberate within her…

by: Bobbi Sinha-Morey

A Golden Rose

In the bare light of my window
I watch the clouds move like
slow-expelled thoughts below
the unimpeded sun and I think
of my coffee gone dead on
the table, nearly everyone I knew
except for a handful of friends
no longer in my life, and I look
back on the years it took for me
and my husband to get here,
a blessed sanctuary of home,
and press my ear to the resonant
hush of today, far away from
families we let go, having exited
that part of our lives – the dervish
past when our families tried to tear
our lives apart, rob us. In my mind's
eye we were the victims who barely
survived as if staying alive had been
our mission; how we wanted to stub
out the dusk, erase the sun. Nights
we'd spent haunted by their insidious
plans, the bedsheets cold, yet waking
up in our sweat, and we'd stitch our
words together, a faint change in
the skin of our hearts. We'd chosen
not to be broken having held on
so tightly, and now here we are in
a beautiful home we made for ourselves,
a river glittering like broken glass not
too far away. Living in the solace of 
our home where no one can touch us
we've found an unexpected gift: a hot
trinket of a golden rose to hold close
to our lips.
A Leaf From Heaven

In the shadowy quarantine
of the day rises the smell of 
medicinal bloom and a shining
lamp of iodine by my side,
a cup of weak tea; and like
fluttering birds caught in a great
wind my thoughts were untamed,
my life having been pierced by
a new covid variant, and a darkness
I couldn't name; a candle I kept
imagining swimming down to 
nothingness put out by its own
wet gusts of flame, me drugged
with its own deadly perfume.
In a palm-sized mirror I see my
saddened, hollowed eyes as if death
had come too soon and I'd never
gotten the chance to breathe,
having lived out my life this far
in such a very historical month,
the nights now moonless, a dark
wind whispering that other lives
will be unlaced. When I am awake
no more, a leaf from heaven graces
my cheek. 
Fabric of Solitude

In my fabric of solitude its been
four months of ice and I'm lost
on familiar roads since it's been
years that I've never driven alone;
stars in dead reflection off slick
wet stones and my spirit has gone
silent, so lily still. My future spills
for me no more windy gems; late
afternoon I've nothing left, and
mornings the hours go by before
I ever rise. The door to my heart
begins to close, the sun hidden
by the pale sky I so seldom see;
and my heart had once grown
so fat, well-fed with love, its 
plumpness I know will never 
come again. Now it will only
be me, the blur of seasons
rushing by in my dreams,
my single nourishment the
inspirational channel on TV.
I've grown used to the invisible
god above who's forgotten
about me.
Bobbi SinhaMorey‘s poetry has appeared in a wide variety of places such as Plainsongs, Pirene’s Fountain, The Wayfarer, Helix Magazine, Miller’s Pond, The Tau, Vita Brevis, Cascadia Rising Review, Old Red Kimono, and Woods Reader. Her books of poetry are available at Amazon and her work has been nominated for The Best of the Net Anthology in 2015, 2018, 2020, and 2021 as well as having been nominated for The Pushcart Prize in 2020. Read more of her work at her website:
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