The below poem in hindi was written prompted by a thought about the love of my life :
metro ke khali dabbe me,jab awaazein saaf sunai padti hain,
kabhi kabhi koi baat,kaano me pad jaati hai,
koi sawaal aisa sun leti hoon, jo dil ko choo jaata hai,
kal ek thaki hui awaaz ne bola,waqt kahan milta hai kisi ko yaad karo ?
aur main muskura uthi, main to har waqt usko yaad karti hoon,
ya yun kaho, har khoobsurat ehsaas me wo khud hi yaad aa jaata hai.
[ And below is the translation ( sort of) ]
Travelling in the metro,
when you can overhear,
some random bit of talk,
or questions that find
a way straight to heart -
“where does one have time
to miss some one”
a tired voice asks,
and I can not help but smile,
’cause I miss him all the time -
his words ,smile or name
is just there always,
with every beautiful desire,
every feeling of him I share.
Linked to dVerse Poetics , Sunday Whirl
Easier to hate
for the words
than to love
for the meaning;
Faster to think
of the lover
than to act
on his feelings..
Written for One shot Wednesday
The enforced silence was overwhelming.Words died with every image that nerve cells picked to transmit. Character by character the sentences jump off the brim of my patience. My skin burnt as i replayed the conversation in my mind.Till my eyes could take no more. Tears fell freely in my open palms. As much i tried to hold them, they slipped out f my hands and were soon lost,leaving the salt taste on my lips and the wetness on fingers. I sat so for a long time till the cool skin went numb from my own sense of rejection.Or was it just cruel ? The night passed me. I failed the purpose of night.
I really wished i could cry and tell all these to you ! But would you still care ?
Dedicated to some friends lost in time.
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
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”