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giving a practical view on myself... m a human being with usual dreams of shining in life, getting married to my "dream girl" and live happily ever after ..... and for a true identity I’m a person who is always in a conflict with this materialistic world..... in time of sorrows my ailment is songs of Rabindranath... the rest of the time i spend with my books , music and o’course my camera ... when i cry in pain. drops of tears roll down my face...and i maintain a dead silence.....and when i laugh, I maintain an applauding sound.... unlike sukanto i never saw the moon as a baked bread.....but it seems to be very lonely out there....and i find a fellow mate to whom I can say “so how was ur night” people tells me I’m an introvert..... i tell myself i feel it useless to share my thoughts with this practical world.... i write sentences. virtually of no meanings.. i like to hangout with my friends. the regular addas,, parties with cakes and ales are also what i cherish a lot in my life. but when i return home., completing that day’s journey through the road named life.. I return to my own world.. Whom I name it as the “world of desertion”

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Saturday, May 7, 2011

The poem of Love




When the evening sun turns all bloody
The hero in the film says “true love doesn’t exist”
They say “you are the one, I want to die with...”
“spend the rest of my life with ...”
“When I close my eyes you are the only one out there”
Romantic ! they are.
I’ve closed my eyes a thousand times...
All I see is “afterglow”.
But when the bleeding sun bleeds no more
When I feel your caring fingers
Slowly moving across my weary hairs
When you used to gently pull the blanket over my body
 the cold nights...
When you shared the little piece of chocolate
With me... even though there were many more in the box
When your breasts were not seductive but a place to die
Happily... resting my head while gazing at your celestial face
as if wars were finally over. As if a baby lying in its cot
gazes at the wonderful, mysterious  wind chime
When your arms reminded me of the fortress of fairy tales...
Your angry face which the cigarettes feared.
Your tensed yet strong smiles that spread all over
The hospital bed sheet...
When you tried to rearrange my room, wardrobes, life... in vain.
Every time the “what will I do with you” came out of your tired mouth
When your special hot tea with magical potions seemed warmer
then it should’ve been...
When tears rolled down your cheeks once my lips
Touched your forehead
When you ran after my whims and my whims ran after you
When  the sudden thunders conspired to bring us close
And apparently, we were afraid of its melodramatic sound
I do feel like writing poems of love
But they say that “true love doesn’t exist” ...
And I open my eyes... again.


- by wreetojyoti

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Hmmm ... sad isn't it ... but its true ... cos 'true' love means 'unconditional' love ... which is only present from a mother to her child ... it is impossible for a person in Kalyug to love truely .... people are not as accepting anymore ... some may compromise .... but then that is not love ... just a compromise ... people fear being lonesome and therefore accept this compromise and with time they become 'attached' to the person whom they later think they 'love' ... Yes they do 'love' that person ... but not 'truely' ... Its not an illusion but a dream your poem! ... A beautiful dream ... and dreams can create miracles ... and I believe in miracles ... keep creaming and keep your faith ... and one day someone will make us all believe that 'true love does exist' .... A very touching poem ... well written! :)

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