Shadows haunt my happiness,
a shade no one can see;
the joys plenty in my lap
tainted by my own wishes.
the tree studded paths
I walk holding love;
but the air is different,
also the filtered rays above.
Each laugh freed in day
returns with a memory
that steps into my heart
and stabs before going away.
Am not sad,if you ask
neither have been happy so
I am just missing the friend
the best,the one I need always.
Linked to OSI
Some S.O.S calls are bizarre just for the fact that you never made them. some times you stand at a point in life, like at an empty booth and pretend to make a call to random stranger. You tap on the smudgy side glass to check if some one noticed you and feel both good and not. Good that no one would call you a fool and sad that the hopes to get some one to talk would be lost. Ghosts of your restless wishes seep through your sub-consciousness and without realization you make a call to God.
I might have made one such call, when I met him. silent and reserved, he was unlike any friend I ever had. Attentive and sensitive were some of the other words I would later describe him. A smile to fall in love with and words to die for. A friend I dare say I did not deserve , some one I never expected to come across even.
When you meet friends, we talk , and talk more and talk till we depart. We share stuff , we hide some, we smile more and cry so less. I had always known such friends. And they are one of the best. But little did I know even silence had a way among friends.
Nestled between insane talks and crazy stories , silence like shadows lined the street we walked. For fun, we faced the scorching heat of summers and challenged each other to slide on the ice grounds in our make-believe world. But often found ourselves staring curiously at the world and shrugging it off with carefree laughter.
Once some one commented on having a friend with whom she doesn’t have to always talk. I found it amusing as well as a challenge to be such a person. Today I realize i have found that friend in him. I never have to worry what next to say to him, what next to expect to hear. Never am I in a hurry to tell him my stories neither does he hurries his narration. We remain silent and engaged in our own task, without a care. This non-compulsion to speak is something I value the most with him. nothing I say around him or do, makes me feel odd or even him I suppose. This is indeed a new experience and one I will cherish forever.
thank you god for such a wonderful friend.
thank you dear friend, for making of such valuable memories.
Met a twitter friend for a quick coffee-chat session [ as described by her] and later wrote this in my notebook :
It wasn’t their first meeting, but first meeting alone.
Later on call, they both admitted they loved meeting so..
She : Finally, I know who to call when I run out of people to have an interesting conversation with
He : So, I am the last on the list for you ?
She : No, you are the only one in the list as of now !
He : but you said, you will call me when you run out of..
She : that does not mean I must have any option before I make you the only option !
And they both laughed…
And they loved it too.
What kind of friendship is that ?
I know you would ask
and that’s probably
the reason, of Das* dada* i don’t talk.
food lovers, tale tellers,
crossing days of school
like a game of bingo,
sharing bitter fear
and strawberry dreams,
hours we would pass
the phone bills ran high
in few initial years
once he even came home
with gifts so much dear
and then he vanished one day
where , why , no one could say.
I am prone to losing friends though
I miss him still curse him lot,
think of him, any free time i got.
he was precious,always will be so.
Submitted to One Shot Wednesday
Prompted @ NaPoWriMo day#7 . It asks you to write a poem with seven different phrases, ideas, or just plain old “things” in it. These are:
1) an example of synasthetic metaphor — one that describes one sensory perception using adjectives more naturally suited to a different sense (e.g., “a red noise,” or a “a bitter touch”)
2) a fruit
3) the name (first or last) of someone you knew in school
4) a rhetorical question
5) a direct address to the poem’s audience — “Reader” or “mom” or “Michelle,” or maybe just “You”)
6) a word in a foreign language
7) a reference to a game of chance (darts or pool or the lottery or etc).
*Das = Last name of my friend
Dada = elder brother in bengali language
You say things are no longer same
Well, I am not the only one to change;
You appear to be in some pain to me
wonder why you think its better to hide it;
You still mean so much so special in my life
I just am at loss of words to express this time;
I wish I could break the wall you think there is
but since there is none, how do i still fight it ?
Written for Poets Rally Week 39
Fresh poets to explore
Won this by 17 votes ( :O ) votes at Poets Rally and JP !
More winner details here
I formally accept this award and nominate Mike Patrick for the next award.
Every blog – old or new
words paved with patient love
welcome to entertain.
Some times, life brings you in contact with a person whom you feel so connected to, who in his own weird ways makes you happy, who irritates you and annoys you but still you like to have him around.
And then Life does not like this – Or maybe you met this person by mistake. You were never supposed to know his existence. and that maybe would have been good for you both.
Whatever be the scene, you did come into my life , you did make me smile , you made me want to either kick you or some one else at least from the ways you fought with me every other day. I did not mind fighting even the false blames most times. but today I give up. If you can not trust me but more depend on the technologies and your ideas about me, let it be.
I just hope some day you will read this and realize I was not lying !
I already feel the loss of losing a friend.
I will miss you sometimes.
Take care “pagal”