Category: Uncategorized

I remember Susmita,
whose innocent face I was meant to gaze upon,
unblinking, for
centuries, a thousand years.
Suddenly
I see, today, on her face,
darkness has gathered.
Gone
is that flawless glow.
A shadow has fallen there —
the claw of jealousy.

It’s been a long while since I’ve gone to Sara,
haven’t been able to answer Sara’s call, and yet
one night’s memory remains,
the memory of one coupling.
At the peak of that coupling, when a man forgets the world,
I looked into Sara’s eyes
and said, I love you.
When distrust and her clever eyelids flickered,
I corrected myself, changed my words.
No, I love the coupling, your coupling.
The coupling that our fathers, our grandfathers, our great-grandfathers,
dreamed of and died dreaming of, for a thousand years.
Once that coupling found its fulfilment, only then did I fall in love with Sara.
I am no god, at most a Vishwamitra.
It’s been a long while since I’ve gone to Sara,
haven’t been able to answer Sara’s call, and yet
one night’s memory remains,
the memory of one coupling.
The memory of one epic coupling.

We will come together,
again and again.
And yet
our union
will never happen.

You are not my type,
No.
That’s not true.
You are really
Not that type.
Which is
Till unknown.
Good bye
forever.

Who has kept track of it,
carrying on for hundreds of centuries,
over this ancient earth,
silently, like a falling leaf —
a living grave!

There are, after all,
many more balconies in this city.
There are
lovely women with loose hair on those balconies.
In the evening’s matchmaking light,
they too look toward the road.
Yet!
Not once do I
peer at their balconies,
or theirs!
Why is it
your balcony alone
my eyes keep falling on, again and again!

We
go to each other.
Because
there is nowhere else
for us to go.

I keep staring into Eliza’s eyes,
keep rubbing my lips against her lips.
In this city, going to her
is the only way out.
At least for someone
as unemployed and jobless as me.
Eliza’s asking price is very low,
just twenty euros.
For twenty euros, a woman,
a woman’s body.
The condition with Eliza was,
no penetration of any kind,
only external touch, tongue and lips.
Or mutual churning.
And yet,
Eliza.
Lays herself bare,
entirely undressed.
Removing, one by one, all her undergarments.
And
stripping away everything of mine.
I am astonished, again and again.
Even prostitutes, once penetration happens,
do not kiss the lips.
And yet,
Eliza.
Kisses my lips,
draws me into an embrace,
as if I were the lover of her hundred lifetimes’ devotion.
I lose myself,
now a lover,
now a customer,
running my hand
over Eliza’s breast and her sex.
And yet,
Eliza.
Remains, to me, a streetwalker,
one who can be had
for twenty euros.
And yet,
Eliza.
Asks five euros more when leaving.
On condition
that next time, ten euros
will settle it.
I keep staring
into Eliza’s eyes.
With an ocean of longing in me
I see, there, only emptiness.
No.
There is no love there,
no desire there.
No love.
No lover, no
desire of a man.
I go back,
carrying the despair
of failing to be a lover, or a man.

The two of us,
on a night of getting to know each other,
suddenly, once, in a single glance,
I held Julia’s hand.
Exactly when, or why,
I held Julia’s hand that night,
I don’t remember.

I only remember
our night passed in stories,
the night of first meeting.

Alongside, we opened,
one by one, two
bottles of red wine.

Exactly when, or why,
I held Julia’s hand
that night.
I don’t remember.

I only remember
Julia was wearing
a white woollen frock.

I remember
in the soft light of her sitting room,
sitting before me was not a goddess,
nor was she flighty — just a girl.
Only a girl.

Her entranced eyes,
that’s what she wore that night.
The night of getting acquainted.
The night of our first meeting.

I don’t know when. Exactly when
the morning light came
and stood at the window.
Not a flash, but as if saying,
that’s enough for now,
let’s each go to our own rooms.

After that,
each of us told the other,
on what night again
will we sit like this, face to face! Tell me!

It’s not that
anyone has asked,
how are you.
And yet I feel like saying,
feel like telling her,
telling Anindita.
Her own taught phrase,
“It’s going fine.”
Yes,
it’s going fine.
Believe me,
believe me, Anindita.
It’s going fine.
Only, without two sleeping pills,
sleep doesn’t come anymore these days.