Thursday, April 11, 2013


I love it when you write silence,
In an open field, I go on sowing word-seeds on it,
Crops reaping love,
Teaching a thing or two 
To the once self- assured spring.
Like a marauder upon a hapless tribe,
I script my own story.

I love it when you write silence,
When on a white bed sheet
We act out what we never speak.
Your words rant and pant, but your lips do not move.
Like conversations between the dead
In a graveyard.
Words which wound and make love,
No last twist of the knife,
No kisses raining love.
Just the sheer fulfillment and joy
Of the waves paying their homage to the shores.

These blank spaces that you whisper between us,
A universe or two,
Unpopulated with little towns of
Stars, meteors or comets...
The emptiness of a war ravaged village
And the blank mute stare of anger.
Your silence seeps slowly in my veins
Like serpent smoke rising from burnt houses.
I get to write so much in them,
Make love all day long.
Our clothes fighting with each other on the floor.

I apologize, I demand, I Crave.
Your silence is so fertile,
Even on days when your soul
Is the fisherman praying mid-storm.
And i hold onto every blank
Every sigh,
And i put them on paper.
They weep, laugh, smirk and frown
In blue, black and red.
And when the pages flutter
The winds smacking them for mischief.
Every sinew of your soul
Speaks the symphony of what remains unsaid.
Like the only bird in nighttime forest
Or the first heartache of adolescence.
Your Loud
So Acute
So Forever.


Abin Chakraborty said...

some of the lines are pure magic...heights of verbal witchcraft.but I think it needs editing.

sayan said...

help me edit...even i felt there were a few overgrown bushes here and there..but couldn't identify...suggestions needed...