My Blue-Eyed Raven

My Blue-Eyed Raven

Written by Ayush Banerjee


Blue-eyed raven,

I can write so much about you

Tell me,

please:

When do I stop 

and where do I find you at dawn? 

My blue-eyed raven,

paint the walls with the color you bleed

they’ve been unheard for too long

and deserve every drop of your tender black,

draped in the fabric of your inevitable vulnerability. 

Your eyes still hope at every other face

and those lips-

the brittle foreskin took on life

whilst the inner skin was as tender 

as the wings of a butterfly. 

If I ever defined you as an idea

maybe it’d be a gentler death

in a garden black lilies, that had, 

for long, despised regular red roses,

as I place my final desire 

to stare at the naked tree 

quivers, that, for every fallen leaf

it cannot feel anymore;

my blue-eyed raven

my sweet raven,

you’d be the hollow jar

where I’d feel empty no more. 

Blue-eyed raven,

o’ mine,

I’ve been to naive

and I’ve been too afraid

to hold your hand,

for if I must touch your skin,

all I’ll ever be left with

is how solemnly pristine 

it’d made me feel. 

Lately I’ve wondered

how sinful peace can be-

to watch them hold your hand,

from a distance,

arms around you with drops 

of faith and filth on a mirror

and if the reflections break,

dearest raven,

you’ll find me always

if you need me ever. 

I shiver with the thought

of losing you,

keeping you at a distance

will be my greatest regret

and every time I falter,

bring my body close to yours,

I recall the nights when I’ve realised

that you were never mine to keep. 

My blue-eyed raven

I haven’t seen you for so long

yet if I need you around

I vividly recall you smiling

and often, 

I’d cease to define us,

for you’ve taught me,

Oh! so well,

to be free. 

And mankind often repents

for you could never be caged

and the oppressors are held captive

under the shrine of your bitter-sweet revolt

that shall last forever;

you’re the bird

that makes them regret

the very notion of birth

while you watch from above

their infamously flawed existence. 

Written in the prophecy:

“He who shall trap the feathers

of the blue-eyed bird,

shall fall into the ruins 

of his own wrath

swearing by

her holy black.”

My blue-eyed raven

fly away,

fly until you reach eternity

for the shackles 

of tradition, custom and values

were as brittles as their ideas,

were never meant to hold you,

fly away and I shall meet you

where every brook forms a river

where every sky touches the ocean

where your heart bleeds into nightfall

where you’d lie in a meadow of wildflowers

and I’ll lie beside you,

to admire every part of you, 

in ways they have never been touched before. 

Every gargoyle you rest upon

bears the naked imprints

of your  glory against agony. 


Ayush Banerjee
Ayush Banerjee

A poetry connoisseur, Ayush writes what he sees, experiences, and believes. 

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