#philosophical

284 quotes

this frail January heat wounds
my memories, and i remember
the moisture between your fingers
on exhausted evenings: their soft 
saline taste while you caressed 
my face between your palms, like an
 ocean wave lapping against my cheeks
 as I napped tired on the shore

(continued in caption)

days have started to die late. the dusk grieves along the skyline in wails of red, soaked by the uncaring monotony of this city. i already miss the early stars blushing in masks of fog; the cold tremor of leaves; and the winter breeze that cracked my lips and flaked my scalp. the onset of summer annoys me, just as the unwarranted departure of winter upsets my heart. did I not love you enough? i wonder. beaten blankets strung in empty balconies flutter lightly on nylon ropes: as if they were all prepared to bid adieu; to let go, and espouse the spring. this frail January heat wounds my memories, and i remember the moisture between your fingers on exhausted evenings: their soft saline taste while you caressed my face between your palms, like an ocean wave lapping against my cheeks as I napped tired on the shore. but i have come to hate summers for that one sultry evening you left in my study your goodbye. a transformer had blown off down the street, and the blackened night had men huddling outside their homes with torches in their hands, and salted peanuts in paper cones. i passed out in the dark with your note on my perspiring chest, crumpled by fingers in disbelief. and i had woken up to a similar, defunct reality: of people having moved on with life, as if there were no disruptions, as if they were always prepared, as if they all slept sound the night before: on lavish mattresses, and in the supple skin of their wives. not grieving is no strength, but betrayal - to the love you wove with pearls of tears, and the puffing truth of your breathing. being prepared for departures is no valor but weak roots of love. i shall weep this winter’s going, and be cold to the spring flowers in my backyard. i shall loathe the summer thereafter for the way it would reignite her smell in my heart. but then seasons return to our tired longings, unlike loves that wash clear our imprints on their bodies beneath tender touches of juvenile passion. you see, goodbyes are not meant for those who return. and those who wouldn’t, never loved enough to pay for parting. © Sobhan #YQBaba #YoPoWriMo #Poetry #Life #Philosophical #Life

19 HOURS AGO

...Life is filled with dots so close that we fail to differentiate like we fail to see them in a line...

"This isn't working anymore." Somewhere down the line I was expecting the above line. Life is filled with dots so close that we fail to differentiate like we fail to see them in a line. Like the thin line between the beauty of alliteration and unimpressive repetition. You're so used to that line, you insert it everywhere, every time. And you know what? It fits, it bloody fits everywhere. Can you see how many times I used the 'line'? You know it'll eventually fade its shine. Yet eventually, we forget. Remember that old shiny silver ring? Yes, that first ring in life, an attempt to look classy when that's all affordable. Personally, gold never attracted though. Reflection on the silver ring, that's fascinating. Ok, back to me and you. Or that ring. Look at the ring closely. You may see bits of a stain, some touch of bronze or some other metal that your smith cleverly made under his pure smile. If not, you're yet on the verge to see those dots. On the ring? But you don't wear one, right? Don't worry. Currently, all you can see is a line. Look closely. Suddenly you can now see the dots. The line is gone. - Debashis Sarmah 15 Jan 2018 #life #philosophy #abstract #philosophical #lifelessons #YQBaba #debashisds

22 HOURS AGO