Friday, November 25, 2011

Monochromed thoughts-


And for all we can see right now of this girl called Tanima
-is the half braided night of her hair

and a filtered afternoon cloud

and intermittent showers

and clasped lower lip half perched on the upper

and a suit case full of metaphors that her beautiful broken
(of a childhood injury) eye brows deserve.

And the little fog of a mirage that the vapors from the tea make
of a smoke screen
or an award winning oil painting.
(Once Mrs. Chakraborty complimented her this way.)

And Amrita Pritam canvassed angular face and voice
twenty eight and unslept lunar eclipsed eyes

and yet you wish you would see her clearly if she turned just a bit.

................................................................................................

For all we know of her she might be thinking of now are
those people who still exist outside the periphery of this watered city of hers.

People who have read all of Kant and Carroll.

People who you want to run to when you cry.

People who eat their curries before their chicken.

People whose passing graze shudders your soul.

People who can never say no to a cup of tea or a discussion about missile crisis.

People with whom you would like to see Lake Titicaca and also a broken hut on an unknown village.

People who when they smile stop your world.

People who can write poetry imitating Neruda or Bukowski.

People who are sad sunsets and a joyous sunrise altogether.

People who are still confused between Vivian Leigh and Ingrid Bergman.

People who remind you of Sunday afternoons.

People who would watch 'Pyasa' and 'Meghe Dhaka Tara' with you five times
and let you cry on their shoulders always.

People who speak less and think more.

People who look at you with love and sometimes hunger.

People who you think of on every vacation or while a train noisily passes by.

People for whom love is not just a word.

People who leave a sad longing and a smile on your lips while you sleep.

People about whose face you paint in your mind while looking from your balcony at the rain right now.

People like me who scribble just to be read by her and no one else.

Or maybe
she is not thinking anything as of now.

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