Her eyes resemble and carry the smoke of an actor who reads his mirror,
A practice which shall yield him an amplified delivery,
A suitable expression which favours the plot.
In them, there’s an unfamiliar and an unshaken faith in destiny:
Like that tale of an abandoned child, left out on the doorsteps of a Catholic church,
Concealed and swaddled under the whispers of a silent night.
The path to an unknown territory bearing the invisible flags of an ominous future,
Nourishing a sensual and a persuasive curiosity which grows bigger day by day like a conceived embryo,
A sensation and a curiosity which forces a brilliant scholar to plunge into every library that he finds on his way,
With but the thirst of a parched wanderer who stumbles upon the purest mountains looking for nothing but answers.
Long story told in short,
Unknown entities in each other something we saw, we sought;
For His judgement we have proofs.
Warmth of July, cold of December,
And the hidden agony growing in Cupid’s chamber,
Fired, forged and wrought;
There’s no denial of what I went through.
I chose my suffering, I chose my people,
Then I chose my dreams for a choice;
You chose what you chose,
Your life in your hands,
Roll the dice, pay the price;
Live and let live.
I’m no more the one you once knew,
You no more the you that you were for me.
You changed, you became she.
She, who walked the corridors of the most hated building of my life
with her pendant earrings oscillating in a lurched manner,
Symbolising but childish outburst of “mood swings”,
And Glowing nothing but silver and hypocrisy.
She, who fed on an arrogance filled with air, built with flattened pride and covered with an insignificant stream of light.
She, a short, incomplete yet an intense story of my life,
Ends in the middle of its climax, deprived of its living right to meet a resolution.
~ Samrat
Jadavpur University, Kolkata, India