Once, into
his ears I had whispered
the story
of those glowing fireflies.
And since then,
during many mysterious nights,
under the
magenta blue sky
my
whispers deepened
and the
story became a dream;
a dream of
a tomorrow, pregnant with today,
a dream of
an unknown joy
with strange
pains, hidden,
a dream of
a horizon
towards which
I had turned my back long ago.
The dream
was soaked with the moisture
gathered
from the monsoon rain. And then
he became
my rain. Now,
He keeps
drizzling in my brain and
I carry him within
Like the
fragrance of the hasnuhana.
But I
know,
Soon, a silence will grow heavy
burrowing roots in the corners of the house,
burrowing roots in the corners of the house,
and the rainy season
will change,
leaving behind
memories of a rainbow sky,
that I alone shall have to carry
leaving behind
memories of a rainbow sky,
that I alone shall have to carry
into a warm winter fire,
struggling to decipher
the mysterious monsoon,
recalling
of having once been soaked
in the rains;
struggling to decipher
the mysterious monsoon,
recalling
of having once been soaked
in the rains;
wondering occasionally,
if it still rains where he lives
and if he still thinks of the paper boat
that we together tried to make!
Answers to which I will never know.
And till then, each time he will say he loves me
I would be surprised why there’s a lump in my throat
that refuses to dissolve into tears!
