When you are left powerless to watch as the time turns to a desert wind, blowing disoriented across the dry and lifeless land of your life. When your heart beats only because it knows nothing else to do, just because stagnation on its part would mean a certain end to its host. When your true companion seems to be the silence of the night and the only treasure left with you is the emptiness of the day. When you pray for a single drop to make ink from the soot of your burnt memories, and the heavens reply with a void of ignorance and humiliation.
It is probably then, that you would realize that the parallel trails you’ve been walking on had separated long ago. You would wonder, without answers, which way the other road went. You would wonder whether if you went back a few steps, you’d find the bend again, and be able to figure out what way they took. But alas, you’d also realize that that is impossible. You would turn back only to realize that there exists no road behind you, the only trail to walk lays ahead.
I wonder if it was the foreign touch! When the morning sun flitted through between the gaps of the green oak leaves and landed on your wrist. I saw you watching the little rays playing on your wrist, with the fuzzy shadows. Was it then that you realized that you’d rather go away and stay where the rays had come from! For today, those same morning rays look everywhere for their playfield, your gentle touch.
You had expanded the horizon of my dreams, by the inexplicable divinity that is the touch of your lips. You had spilled the hues that turned the skies into the adorable shade of pink and gold. And then for no reason, you had decided to embrace those same skies forever. It was a choice that didn’t involve me, not bothering to know what I thought about it.
I was there beside you when you left, too numb to be angry. I tried with everything I had in me to embrace those skies along with you. Trying desperately to find a little shelter among the clouds that now revere you as a queen. I was denied that privilege, left to wither painfully in the squalor of the world inhabited by the living.
The thinker in me is restless. He doesn’t like chasing things that cannot be. He doesn’t like this web of smoke you’ve left me in, he doesn’t want to guess the future anymore. And yet, the lover in me doesn’t want to understand. He doesn’t care if he has lost you. He would answer the fatal beckoning of the memories at once. He wants to scout the ends of all rivers, the edge of the horizon, in search of a hope that can never be.
I wish you would listen, angel, I wish you could hear what echoes in the dark alleys of my consciousness. I wish you could read what’s written in my bleeding journal. I wish you could hear your name ringing everywhere like I do. I wish you could feel their heat, for they have survived the scorching flames of untimely abandonment.
But you can’t. Maybe you won’t, even if you could. You no longer care for my thoughts which are doomed to freeze in a place that used to be an orchard. To you these words are echoes of a distant past. To you, these letters are from a place you’ve long grown out of.
And so, I reluctantly move on, unwillingly stop trying to make you understand the truth I couldn’t reveal when the time was right. The lover in me protests, as there’s not going to be any more rivers to explore, no more sunsets to drown into a glass of amber poison. The thinker rejoices. As it has been freed from having to find answers to questions never asked.
In a world where the unseen is deemed to be a figment of imagination, I know you were real. In a world chasing riches, you made me search for treasures within me. In a world where death marks the end of something, you push me to keep looking for more. In a world that regards dawns as another day of toiling, your spirit still keeps me company and invigorates me every morning. In a world of monotonous stones replacing people, you pour the colorful rains. And as the pain of solitude slowly wanes away, and the scars slowly fade, I know a truth would be etched in my heart forever –
You are the dialect of the eyes, you are the intoxication of happiness, you are and will be, my first true love.
This post is inspired from an old bengali song called “Sorry Dipannita” Though being somewhat of a direct translation into a prose, I’ve also tried to add a few of my own bits here and there.
Please let me know in the comments what you think about this one.