Written by Sauradeepa Raha
The sky wearing an autumnal hue
sighs overhearing the last whispers
of the dangling aspen leaves before
they spiral down lifeless on the ground
saturated verses of cryptic emotions
diffuse out with every breath we release
and float in the whirlwinds
the breeze lulls them to dormancy
till they hang in the air sweet and heavy
but we, the long lost children of romanticism
and heartbreak, are afraid of the bitter aftertaste
that lingers once the sugar sublimates.
You and I are the yellowing pages of letters
written summers ago on a youthful afternoon
in euphoria with a tangerine ink
and tucked between the pages
of a leatherbound hardback
which never made it to their destinations.
Mother often talks of a dilapidated post office
with fading crimson walls at the end of the street
she says it’s tragic how passersby refrain from
looking at the letterboxes choking with reveries stitched by cherry blossom souls,
however letters continue to pile within
for human heart is the strangest of creatures
that knows it will shatter but never fears to.
There’s a language your eyes speak in
on a saturday evening, your chortles
drop unconscious phrases while you are
too drunk on the liquid amber martini
of sunsets and nostalgia
because silence isn’t a lover’s forte.
Silence, I have come to know, is a language
that erodes into amorphous dialects
on a tongue it has been left unmastered
of late, they are making spaces for themselves
in the folds of my poems
where I have promised to keep them safe, intact and undeciphered
until we learn to translate
and all the letters of the letterbox get mailed
till we dare to drench in the sweetness
unmindful of what would follow next
and until the falling leaves croon vows of spring
to a giggling sky overhead
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