Three Poems by Deepti Puthran
- poemsindia
- 8 hours ago
- 2 min read

A Eulogy for You
Here lies, along with the seashells
and dog shit,
my wet and slimy love for you.
You were my sun.
You were my sand.
Creating ripples just by being,
a bubbling brook even in a tiny puddle.
Go on beyond the horizon.
Remember what you see there.
I wave you off
with all your promises and kisses
tucked safely in your breast pocket.
Take them with you.
Keep them safe.
I'll need them when we meet again.
You're gone,
but I will never let you drown.
In your loving memory,
the waves you left behind will always crash in me.
Hide and Seek
I told you before we came here,
we will not get our own room.
You will just have to play with better tactics
before we both get caught.
Oh, you found me already.
I almost mistook you for the shower.
There is no space near the body wash and shampoos.
Stop clinging to me.
Found you!
Sprawled out like a starfish all over my diary,
in writings and doodles, big and small.
Mother does not know you're here, but she sometimes suspects.
What are you doing between the pages of this book
that I borrowed from the library?
It’s not mine to keep.
What a wicked way to catch me off guard.
I forgot to tell you that I’m going to sleep
before you crawl silently under my sheets
and plop on my chest,
poking my eyes with your dusty nails.
How did you know when Mother and Father went to sleep?
Doesn’t matter.
You win. I surrender.
Does that make you happy?
Older
I remember the first white hair I discovered on my head.
I was happy and worried,
and slightly annoyed at the same time.
These days, when I discover the white strands more often than not,
I just sigh.
My face has lost its softness,
And so has my heart.
Bruises and wrinkles linger longer.
Staircases seem to have a personal vendetta against me
and my joints make more frequent and frantic calls.
As I am growing older,
I am none the wiser.
However, I will continue to sigh
and accept
the gift of time.
About the Poet:
Deepti is a primary school teacher from Mumbai who loves playing with words. She often seeks comfort and clarity in them and believes that writing doesn’t have to be perfect, just real.
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