Perhaps I arrived too late in the city,
Perhaps so late, that the whole city had settled in by then.
And I find myself alone, amidst a crowd.
And in this heaving breathing life, I wonder often, who really is mine.
From where I stand, everyone appears the same
I often think that I don't even know how friends are made
Only nights are turning into days
And days devoured by darkness and night sets in again.
But may you remain happy forever.
Hope you never feel the loneliness of loss of friends
And may you keep scribbling something into your empty diary,
in the library, all by yourself.
And when in the night, you return home, tired from a long day's work
May there never be darkness in your path.
Even in your shadows, may the light of the moon preen through
And may you pull your pillow yourself
And sleep in a deep slumber.
Just so, morning may not come so soon.
I am glad you talk to me that way
I thought you do not lie or break promises
But anyway, it is too late to write anything on a dead day
So I wish you goodnight
And how would you sleep tonight without a sorrow?
Ah! And you say I believe in God
Tell me, if you can sleep then why can’t I?
Remember once I have told you
“For a moment, if we forget all this material existence then nothing remains with us except a
moment of silence that always lives between us”
And if you wake up tomorrow morning with the feeling of pain
It’s all right, we are still friends
Will meet you in the evening at the end of your city
Buying an ice cream for you………


You drop on the pages of my poetry notebook
You drop on the pages of my poetry notebook
Like December’s first ray of sun
And fill up my soul with imaginative thoughts.
Some coherent and some far fetched
Some thoughts,
In bunged room in the rainy starry night
Like melting candle
Soft thoughts
Like first dew of today’s morning
In your silence, taking breathe unperturbedly
Like dreams of Blue Ocean of your eyes
Thoughts Like jammed tune on your lips
Like the plant of chui mui (touch me not) of your shrunk palm
Like the emotions struck in the middle of fingers
Like you,
Sitting all alone on the stairs outside the college library
Busy reading book in the yawning winter afternoon.

Everyday after painting, I find myself empty
A feeling grips me that it’s only the body that hangs empty,
Devoid of breath Naked I flop onto my pillow in the hope that perhaps the pillow may return my breath to me.
It doesn’t happen though, and through it all, you are always near me. So near that sometimes,
I can’t distinguish if my breath is my own or if it was lent to me by you.
Every night I wish to lie my head on your bosom and lose myself, and when the morning light
Opens my eyes, may the balmy scent of your body linger in mine.

From my window, I see birds are flying in their own way
People are crossing the streets in their own narcissist way
The sun is fading in a very obscured way
I try to write but nothing comes to my mind
Perhaps nothing moves while the world moves
And I move within them but nothing is visible,
Silence that leaves me nowhere but leaves a void in my heart
My friend, all things are passing through in a very silent way
I guess, today is taking its last breaths,
But before the sun loses its whole presence, moment by moment, inch by inch
I shall write something on it, to let this evening speak itself.................

We are like two pillows sleeping together on a bed of a couple,
Without talking, without touching,
Silently listening the piano, lighting the candles in the dark room of our hearts,
Shyly murmuring, humming, singing on the rhythm of my songs,
And our Inner feelings are open to come in the color of red wine,
Sitting at the window, watching lonely roads, waiting for the sun to rise.......

What shall I say?
My friend, my silent lady!
My words are barren like the desert of your city,
Feelings are stuck like honey on your lips,
Thoughts are empty, crossing the roads of my freedom,
Afternoons are pregnant, walking slowly on your way,
Nights are virgin, singing on a tune of nightingale,
Mornings are lazy, still sleeping with a hated voice of alarm,
That is how I make in, that is how I live in,
A broken image, a twisted shadow,
A lonely moon shinning in the night of lovers……….

You know I have come so early in this world
Before the break of the dawn, before you, before your beauty, before anyone
There was no one here and the night was full of emptiness
A kind of silence that cannot be heard anywhere else
It was like the lovers are sleeping after making absolute careless sex
I was there, looking for a way to come or a way to leave
But I was caught up with some kind of angels, gypsies and demons
No, I cannot be so sure; I do not remember everything in details
You know I have come so early in this world
When you were still in your mother’s womb waiting for me to meet you
But I was busy reading some other women’s heart
They all are very kind to me but cannot buy your soul
So I am coming back to you
But I cannot see anything, there is dark and streets are desolated
Cannot see much clearer,
Would you show the way of heaven?
You know I am a primitive man who still lives for some kind of transcendental moments ……

Dear Maherra,
How are you?
Last time, we were talking about the winter,
And you were having cold................
Now it’s raining outside I am in the college library.. sitting in the chair…
Watching the dancing raindrops on the road
The children in the street are arguing on cricket issues like an old couple…
Boats made out of papers are travelling around in the fresh rain water…
Which soon are going to be dead on shores…
Under the umbrella, Asha Ma’am is going back home from college..
And Father Terry in his office is humming a melodious tune…
Yes, last evening I went to the Flower Street to bring flowers for you…
But late night while I was leafing through the pages of the book and I went to sleep
And forgot to put flowers in the refrigerator
They have got wilted and withered just like my face…
I have now kept them in the veranda
Perhaps they start smiling all over again just like you!

An old college friend
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