Sunday, July 13, 2014

A poem for tea cup and Sunday morning ---

For Shabnam Das Manna ...

Your little china tea cup
warmed by steam,
the honey colored swirl
churning out all over again those
 long tucked-away dripping dreams;
you hold it as if
both of you are plotting something secret
your tea-colored eyes
steaming with memories
both fresh and distant
and a few rainy day stories of the past
sitting in front of you on their hunches.
Then the morning
kisses your cheek
like a lover you have known
like a river tickling a pure night
 carries you
to a town
where trees still grow tall in the river bank
away from the newspaper and the car-honks
your tea-leaf eye-lids brimming  up
with a childlike joy
that you have known
but have forgotten lately
and then you are not 30 yet,
so you smile and giggle and
 hope that the world understands your language!

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Almost Love...

 365 days and a few nights later
I am trying to taste the familiar warmth
and hear the forgotten footfalls
that has become silent like both of us.
We have kept veracity and a few smiles
In a curtain box
planning to take it with us
someday, sometime,
when the callings of life will be completed.
Till then we will postpone love.
Now sleep is lonely and famished
as dreams have deserted the eyes and
both of us imagine
a future love
the day after...
and a day after... 

and this explicitly is the loss of love!