Seasons Of You

Seasons Of You

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. 


Ayush Banerjee
Ayush Banerjee

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

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