Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Why this happens....

Why this happens between the two of us,
the words freeze in the cold breeze,
and the lips refuse to part, unable to speak.

Why this happens between the two of us,
the bubbling spring stops in its ebullient run,
and evaporates into nothingness upon the gaze of the torrid sun.

Why this happens between the two of us,
the desert sands, dry as they have been,
lies there in their eternal wait for a sprout of green.

Why this happens between the two of us,
the barren garden lies barren still,
in the wake of a rampaging spring.

Why this happens between the two of us,
the vision that we have in our minds never meet, never greet,
like the banks of a river that flows wild on its ceaseless feet.

Why this happens between the two of us,
the winds that blow in us, comes out as breath,
and blows a candle in each of us, and lays it to rest.


© 2014 Abhijit Pandit

Monday, January 27, 2014

Among the ruins

I saw it, and saw it long and hard,
the dilapidated remains of my house,
a house, once grand and lush,
which a bomb just blew out.

It took just some unfortunate moments to do it,
and it was no more.
Old age, too had crept in its veins,
and time had taken its toll.

I stood there with moist eyes,
hearing nothing.
Perhaps the echoes that rang in the halls,
were buried there among the ruins.

Those voices of laughter,
the incessant crying for a lost toy,
the sweet tune of a mother's lullaby,
the roars of wild joy.
They are still there among the walls.
The walls, on which I had painted, sketched and scrawled.

New coats of paint had hidden them,
and the walls had taken them within,
along with the voices that rang among the walls,
where all these years, though silent that they have been.

But they were there all the same.
I wish that I could find them too,
along with the echoes,
and unearth every corners that I could claim,
in which I played and walked on two little legs,
laughing at their shadows.

These legs have grown up,
and I stood on them now to see,
a house which a bomb just blew up,
setting the echoes in the walls flying very free.

© 2014 Abhijit Pandit

Saturday, January 25, 2014

A blind man's love

How I wish they were there,
the two eyes of mine.
I would have seen you and touched you with those eyes,
explored the delicate curves that enfolds
those enclosed regions of your body,
to see the heaving breast,
and the undulating bosom,
with every breath you take.

How I wish to see you come out of the bath,
and see your dripping hair longing for those shoulders,
the shoulder on which glistens a few drops of water.
I wish they would just stay there, like dew resting on a petal,
or slide down the smooth skin, 
like a rivulet tumbling down on the rocks.
The towel with which you will now smack your hair, spraying water,
how I wish to see the spray in the yellow sunlight.

How I wish to see you stare at me and
look at me with those brown eyes of yours,
scanning eyes, searching for something in me,
waiting to tell something with muted voices.
How I wish to see that gaze of yours.

How I wish to see the sensual walk,
the bouncing of the hair, the thrusting of hips,
the measured steps, the elegant gait,
the tapping sounds that come out of the stones on the pavement,
are the only sounds that would come out,
when you are there, walking with me.

I now have only these words with which to see you, to feel you,
Yet I am not sad. Neither am I angry.
For I know that you have your eyes on me.
I feel their glance, the heat and light they emit.

I have seen you when there was light,
and darkness was just a thing of wonder.
Now I see you in darkness, and I wonder,
how love binds you and me.
While you see the world for me,
I walk this earth for you,
and we glide down the roads,
holding each other in our hearts.


© 2014 Abhijit Pandit