Written by Ayush Banerjee
While the face of humanity
mourns and accepts the existence
of the flowers and souls,
once they perish forever,
you shall be the witness
to my heart,
so full of warmth and
beating with a nervous joy
just at the thought of you.
On a rainy afternoon
the drenched streets pouring into the clogged drains;
we walked and your hands brushed against mine,
I swear I took those pauses in-between
to notice you like I’ve never met you before.
I wonder how
and wonder why-
amongst all the chivalry
turning out to be a sword
bent with fragile deeds,
the jealousy and hatred gallops in our hearts,
God sends a kinder face,
like yours from heaven above
to restore faith and to show mankind
all and everything that love is made of.
On autumn evenings
with the laid- back air
and streets cherishing leaves of the fall
I lay on my chair paralysed with the dilemma
of your promised return.
Honey, for what it’s worth
you were always a chase to eternity
and my tiny tiny feet,
humble and trembling,
tired of running miles,
only wished to catch a drift
your goodbyes fading
like the swift and steady local train.
On spring mornings
I woke up to those eyes
staring at me,
Oh! Believe me, I’ve always wanted to live
in whatever you’ve ever thought
and in all that you’ll ever think of me.
Lay lillies and a wilted leaf
on my grave
with those gracious hands
filled with broken glass
that’d bear every sin
and carry the shine of a cardinal,
for you’re the garden of my secrets
and a watchful witness
as I unearth the horrors buried within;
honey you took my hand
and saw right through me.
On a foggy winter’s night
the river shivers silently
under the moon’s shadow
and the streets lay warm with faded lights,
those of older flouroscent lights
and you held me with warm shoulders
and gentle fingers,
nails piercing my skin,
afraid to let go.
Flickering candle lights
and your lingering woody odour
of frivolous mischief and sweet innocence
latched onto my coat and the walls of my room;
I close my eyes
and there you are again
taming my agony
and brushing my hair;
I can sense fear escaping
the edges of my bruised skin.
Honey, I’ve admired your soul
for it reminds me often
of a crumbled paper, afloat,
while sturdy ships collapse,
like a torn leaf of faded brown
hangs onto the tree
for its body, half-alive,
still battles with the wind
and of a broken glass and spilt wine
that still knows me more
than what I am.
It’s summer now
and all I’m left with
are your secrets embedded in letters,
wrappers of your favourite chocolate,
footprints all over the garden
and a smile on my face as I write about you;
you’ve left me with these blessings,
erasable, yet, healing
and I hope,
we could also meet
in the real world,
soon.
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