The unchanged bedsheet, the coffee pot and the fireplace, reminds me of you everyday. Tell me love, do you feel the same emptiness inside you, as you lie down five feet under, beneath the willow?

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|| When Love Changed ||

When love changed,
The assimilated pieces of the finished puzzle,
Started to fall apart.
Like the crumbled pieces of satin that held us together.
Disarrayed thoughts lingering in mind,
Questioning everything,
Seeking answers to whether it was meant to be.
Her warm gaze and her fuzzy breath on my skin,
Started to turn into cold glares and painful silences.
Her cold feet against mine,
On a wintry night, under the blanket
Turned into tumultuous and agonizing distance.
The nights turned darker and the winter turned colder,
The fireplace and the coffee pot, unattended.
The blanket, all but warm,
Could not keep the winter outside this time.
The empty sound of the wind chimes on a rainy morning,
The coffee mug, still stained with her lipstick.
The bedsheets, still the same.
She never looked back,
Through the plexi-glass behind the cab.
And that is how love changed.
-Arghadeep Das

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be etched down in yellow pages, like odes and eulogies in the rememberance of a lost soul.

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Shades, like smoke signals blaring in the night sky. Visible and vibrant. Draped in elegance she walks in, right past the walls, shattering all defences.The wall that once stood tall, just like the fortress of the Twelve Knights of Realm, is vehemently shattered by her gaze.

She is an embodiment of mystery that even the ephemeral night failed to unfold. She is both ambiguity and tangibility reincarnated as one. Sublimity is in her blood. She is formless, only lingering in senses and perceptions, driving men crazy.

Ages went by, countless dreary travellers seeked her, for she is the one they heard about in tales. The luminescent figure who dances in forests of fireflies, under the moonlight sonata.
Waiting for the benign wayfarer before she is finally one with her nemesis.

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"Its just an old beat up box
It's rusty strings across the top
It probably don’t look like much to you"

Rusty strings on the rosewood body and soft fingers playing all over it until those fingers smell of rust and copper. The euphonic sound that she lets through, and the subtle melody, sublimity is what she smells of.

She is my personal time travelling guide. One fine Sunday afternoon as I sat with her, all I needed to do was close my eyes, as it took me back to my first kiss. Those warm fuzzy moments recollected in the corner of my mind, taking me back to my teenager-ish( though I was 22 when I had my first kiss) self when I used to take her up and play Taylor Swift's "Love Story" for hours. The Hopeless Romantic re-surfaces.

At times she is the messenger of happiness and at times she reeks of sadness. Rainy mornings, strumming along and singing "Hasnuhana" until tears roll down the cheeks, fills the room with an unexplained gloominess. Melancholy served its best.

Years came and went by; she was there by me, always. The rusty strings, the dented body and it's melody made it's way through my fingers everytime I fell short of words to explain the bittersweet smile on my face.

-

Do I deserve love?
For I am a complete rubble of mess.
My nights are lonely,
Just as remorseful are my days.
For I am a storm,
I'll turn your nights cold.
Because I've never felt the warmth,
Or found a hand to hold.
I'll break you into pieces,
Like glasses that shattered.
I'll bind your soul like a slave,
In chains, completely tattered.
I am the storm,
That everyone is afraid of,
The messenger of destruction,
Do I still deserve love?

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Smile
As if there is no tomorrow.
Because life is too short,
To spend in sorrow.
The shadows of remorse,
Shall soon disappear.
Smile,
As if there is nothing to fear.
Life is fragile,
Life is bleak.
For time may render
You every entity weak
But,
Let go off the burden,
Let go off the sorrow.
Smile,
For the hope of a good morrow.

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I see you everyday,
Every moment my eyes follow you,
Your every step, your every smile.
I've never felt tired to follow,
Your footsteps everywhere.
Everytime I see you,
My heart is filled with a sense of longing.
Just like an endless book,
I try to read you everyday.
But you'll never know.
I wanted to tell you, how I fell for you,
In a summer morning. But the words were all lost.
I found them again in a rainy evening.
But with the faint clap of thunder it buried fear in me.
Many autumns have passed,
But the mists of winter still clouded my thoughts.
At last in a forbidden spring in my heart,
I found the courage to tell you,
The secrets held within.
But the words were all lost again,
As my senses went numb,
As I slowly fell back into the mists of uncertainty of my love in your heart,
The mists of the long-lasting winter.

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Dear night,
I crave to know all those mysteries you behold.
Adorned with millions of stars, the dark shades you hold reflects my heart. Staring right into your eyes, how mysteriously I offer you my soul for consummation, reasons unknown. Immersed in your beauty I condone my ephemerality. Your benignity has left me bewitched. You have left me foraging for words. Sublimity is in your blood. You have left me exploring for answers to the questions that my mortal body has been rummaging for what seems an eternity. The effect you've left in everyone's lives is above all forms of contrivances, beyond anyone's reproach. Ever since the day of my genesis, you have left me dazed and discerning for your nemesis every dawn! You are a part of me, the inexctricable fragment and will remain to be so.
With Anticipation
Your faithfully
A distant Admirer.

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Nobody knows how beautifully chaotic she is. Beneath that cold gaze lies a warm heart and fiery soul. Often people are scared of the storm that she is, failing to look beyond. The stillness behind the storm. She is the road not taken. The fire in her soul melts the plastic, that is what scares away most of them. Her heart is a deep ocean of mysteries guarded by the sacred flames of passion. Walking beyond those flames of passion is like marching through the streets of Valhalla to the celestial palace of Odin. Only the brave one can walk through. Many tried to sneak through but were burnt down by the sacred fire of her soul, still longing for the worthy one with courage in his heart ready to embrace her for the glorious mess she is. She is beautifully chaotic, for she is the road not taken
-Arghadeep Das

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