Sanchari Sur — THREE POEMS



Devour me,
my insanity, my willpower,
my irreverence.

Bite into me,
my whimsy, my despair,
my belligerence.

Lick me spotless,
my machinations, my daydreams,
my ardour.

I am a feast,
the last supper.
Eat, drink, be merry.

If you only knew
how I pine away
into the solitary darkness that
morphs into days, weeks, months eternities;
how I offer you an untainted mea culpa,
my transgression, yellowing
in the aftermath of my desire
for you to become
my deus ex machina,
my sublime,
my only


The torso lay
severed, disconnected, discarded;
an umbilical cord
after the act of birthing.

Vacant eyes mirror
suspended terror, a hagiography
commemorating the feast
of flies.


Attachment is bondage. – Rumi

What you don’t have
will suffocate you.

Melancholia is one such disease.

Even a bee won’t dare to
sting me, my aura of
despair, contagious to its
industrious ways.
Sanchari Sur is a Bengali Canadian who was born in Calcutta, India. Her photography, poetry and short fiction have been published or are forthcoming in Map Literary, Barely South Review, Red River Review, Black Fox Literary Review, Urban Shots – Crossroads (India: Grey Oak/Westland, 2012) and elsewhere. Her short story, “Those Sri Lankan Boys,” was selected to be a part of Diaspora Dialogues Youth Mentoring Program in Toronto this year. You can find her at

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