Unsaid

She could’ve added melody to your discordant notes

And could’ve been the song that takes you home.

She could’ve been your certainty

When all else went astray,

Been the creased photograph

to fill your empty frame.

But so much has remained unsaid for so long-

Time sent a gust of wind,

Yet the flame of fondness was never doused.

Only your words have learned

to hold on effortlessly

To the corners of your mouth.

Anwesha

17/9/2018

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Repose

IMG_20180622_211016_271I saw you in a quiet corner,
Away from the music, away from the laughter.
I walked up to you and asked
If it was Nietzsche on your mind,
For that’s the you I had known all along-
All nihilistic and dry.
But to my surprise, “A bit of Neruda,” was your reply.
I asked, “So, tonight you can write the saddest lines?
And I knew you could, when you looked away and smiled.
And there, away from the music, away from the laughter,
I found my repose, a calming shelter.
Let me have the burden of pretentious happiness off my shoulders,
I won’t let my reality lean on lies any longer.
Tonight I need no wisdom.
I need no reason for my being.
Let me just look into your eyes
And find a moment’s peace,
For, love, this world is a bit too loud for me.

Vigil

In a maze of fear-drenched words,
In a heart of hushed up love,
In a rhymeless poem,
And in a fragile shell,
Lies stagnant and still
A dwindling vigil.

Often forgetting itself,
Often revealing itself;
Stiffening itself against the storms,
Mending the strings already torn,
There it lies stagnant and still
An inane and dwindling vigil.

Looking Back

backI never want to, and yet I look back,

I hate it so, and yet I look back,

I know not what I yearn for, I just keep looking back,

I know not who’s looking ahead, I just look back.

Long forgotten, long forgiven,

All the pictures faded away,

But it’s only me, that keep looking that way.

Well, who’d know my plight,

Who’d know why I decide

To let go of all bans,

And just desperately keep looking back…

I Feel

A poem written after a long-long time, written in one of those moments when I come out of myself…

I feel like the cloud, grey with sorrow,

Heavy with tears, but doesn’t pour;

Who steps aside and lets the sun glow,

Who disappoints the rivers, oceans and more.

 

I feel like the child, bubbling with glee,

Under a scorching sun, yet set free;

Who prays for goodness in abundance,

Who suffers many a times for his ignorance.

 

I feel like the dust, rolling in the desert,

Going hither and thither without any effort;

Who’s trampled unseen and unknown,

Whose absence won’t even be mourned.

 

I feel like every other person, standing near me,

A heart to feel, a mind to think, and eyes to see;

Who dutifully carries along with life,

Who searches for the answers he’ll never find.

 

A Bit Beyond

As another year steps in, and once again we pretend to prepare ourselves for a ‘new beginning’, to revive ourselves, reform ourselves and accomplish all that we couldn’t, just because the earth has completed one revolution round the sun and will start another, I just want to share a thought, a message, maybe or rather something to ponder about and execute if at all it makes some impact.

All things on the surface,

All emotions on the outside,

All words just as traced,

All shown, nothing to hide-

Could that ever be?

Is that how it is?

 

All pain may not be pain indeed,

Maybe some unnamed joy underneath.

All joy may not be joy indeed,

Maybe some aching secret deep within.

Could that ever be?

Is that how it is?

 

Is life really not what it seems?

Is an illusion the food for our beliefs?

Failing forever to probe within,

Are we forever dangling with blind conceit?

Is there amongst all men, some other bond,

Which we’d probably find, if we looked a bit beyond?

Forbidden Expectations

final

And yet again, we expect what we shouldn’t,

Love whom we mustn’t,

Pray for the impossible,

And again, the broken laws are so palpable.

 

Hoping in the most hopeless moments,

Reminiscing the beginning even in the end,

Cherishing those incomplete memories,

We live on by ignoring so many vagaries.

 

All of it as futile as futile can be,

Yet there continues those euphoric dreams,

For they complete our beings,

They surpass our limitations,

And so, there lives forever the forbidden expectations.

The above sketch is by Anwesha Saha (owner of As The Ink Flows).