Remembering - Anuja Mitra

if you can you can try to recall
the sun across the roof and you
knee-deep in childhood playing
near the fence with the storm 
of daisies still impressionable
in the way of dreams still
believing leaves had voices
and you might then remember

curtains drowned in burnished light
how at night the sky emptied 
into a field of stars leaching out
the guilt you’d soon forget unlike
the woman you called Nana who kept 
knitting you hats while you kept not
writing back and maybe then you’d know

the injustices you had no part in 
the lady who bought your house how
she ravaged your kingdom while 
you were away oh these memories
spiralling into memories into
nothing this helter skelter art of 
remembering this bending 
over backwards running out of light 

Ascent - Anuja Mitra

I would like to step outside myself. 
To bow from my body and its trivial griefs.
So I rise: above 
forests, deserts, seas. 

I rise
and it feels just how “ascent” sounds.
The soft beginning, 
the reverent end.

I become monarch of the crooked sky;
clouds name their heirs for me. 
Soon I am written into sunsets, 
cutting the ribbon on new galaxies. 

Constellations forget their places.
Even gravity grows fond again. 
Dining one day I feel the pull of trees, 
the earth calling me home.

My plan backfires:
I have become too loved.
Now I am falling through the arms of stars,
wingless as a thing newborn.

I realise this is happiness 

only when I look down.

Contributor's Note

Anuja Mitra is a university student. Her work was featured in the National Library exhibition “The Next Word: Contemporary New Zealand Poetry” and can also be found in Signals, Starling and Sweet Mammalian. She is co-founder of the new online literary magazine Oscen at


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