Jumble, jumble, my heart is tumbling
over the slants of your
shoulder. Your nape is fragrant.
Let me kiss you, rose bud.
I am no one without you.
Without a metaphor,
a greedy monster. Will you reconcile
with me- won’t you, soft petal?
Even though it’s time to be separate-
a clarion call has come
to be evenly strong.
Without me, an individual. I am a reactionary,
not wish to be. Without you- aloof, bitter,
violent. You are remedy. My life’s cliche.
I abhor you, darling, I love you so much.
Then, another separation, death.
The departure of you
from myself and I
from you. A vacancy remains not for there
will be new loves. Will they remember us?
Or, say, it will not matter, who loves whom, and how
our hearts were broken in a fickle way.
Forgetting is an almirah of loss and regret.
I stand nearer to you. Not you.
The you that I adore.
Will give my life to-
My love will shine like the blinding drops of summer, will parch us,
and will overcome us like rain.
Greasy strands of memories would put salt on our wounds.
In the bitter rain I will cling to you, to you, to you.
You will be there when I am dry.
in this indecision I live
whom I both hate and love.
My whims, my whims, live-
You are paid- you are paid with my time,
A time that’s paved with blocks of lightness,
Live, so that you and I align.
My sky, my sky, spread-
Metered with clouds, fickle, a rain-
Wash my inner streets, my inside-
Lissome wet, come to me again.
My bitter, my bitter, stay-
We are naive, we are pure, who?
In a love feral, blood soaked and infinite-
I am dog-tired, if you only knew.
I will walk out and
go with love.
Don’t tell me how good that would be,
the consequences dire.
Or, how good should I be, without it, free.
I won’t listen, no, no.
I will stand up, hold her hand, forsake you for good.
I will walk out and go-
go with love.
No preacher has told me so.
No rocker has swayed me (my heart) with sad crooning at those oblong nights.
But this, this feeling that gnaws a pit (in me)
that I am nothing-
nothing without her.
Before I forsake this feeling, I’ll forsake you, naive.
Before you say a word (and wield a weary smile),
I will walk out of this place.
And go with my love.
love’s one purpose is to return
you to us again
from the oldness of a feeling
that you called love?
Your old love, we say.
love is not one (haven’t you already known)?
Never meant to be.
A nature’s jolt to say, enough
is enough with living with
whom you use to be?
yours to be light footed?
The huntress of rakes. Forever damsel.
You don’t need no cheque leaves
to pay your bills.
are the sovereign.
The law of the land.
The North Star of a dreamer.
One true love of an idealist.
The arbiter of preening peacocks.
And what if
you are more?
If only you ask for more
the entourage of men
will pay you darling tributes carried in Louis Vuittons
and build you a ballpark for your children to play?
not known love’s whimsical play.
Not a surety, an adventurer’s delight,
on a bad day. On a good day
it’s a bliss, but on a temporary land:
no safe house for me and you to stay.
Tanima Sen is not fond of rain.
Muddy, muddy, muddy. Oh-
Here. It’s falling again. Duttori
Baba. Eww, eww, hapless so-
Vexed, she, in a shirty Ferrari
Vroom-screech, before a vno-
Kolkata. Inside a narrow bylane.
Tamal Bhuban was hastily drawn
To her. Her snobby- tsk, tsk-
Beauty to match his brawn, is-
Immensely pleasing, but, grotesque-
Her sense of right and wrong. His
Is more just, her is more risk:
He tells that. To her. Enmity born.
In a car, both, them, Tamal-Tanima-
In love, now not, now vacillate-
Together. What a dilemma. For two-
Rain soaked hearts. Stuck. Great!
In a rain soaked city. That in a few
Days will turn sunny. Those droplets
Of salt, will turn love’s anathema.