remembering

remember me

in the haze of this winter evening.

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31st December

Another year ends, look back—the past tense,

sitting under a quiet evening sky,

remembering fag ends of happy days and sad,

the colours of Holi now a little brown

with heartbreak, new friends, love lost, luck found,

a long scorching summer followed by thundering rain,

the hypnotic boom of dhak, our ten-armed visitant,

faraway places, the scent of the universe in open skies,

feeling the pulse of the mountains in its streams,

long walks and longer daydreams,

a few hurried birthdays, a cousin’s wedding,

lots of reading,

Christmas in a pagan house, homemade wine

and a fruitcake wanting zest.

my earphones blaring music at midnight and movies

all spun into one fabric,

smelling of old newsprint in a damp building

rolled into empty joints and set to fire,

a false high with people, some of who truly care.

 

When tonight spills in through my window, popping into distant sparks

I’ll say my goodbye and wish parts of you don’t come by, again.

 

23:59 December 31st.

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no sunset blues

 

Falta, by the River Ganga. South 24 Parganas, West Bengal.

 

—so many things must have been said about sunset evenings as background framings.

so much—enough to fill the 12,000 electronic cemeteries where we bury our feelings.

But tonight is different:

because I’m walking away,

and not with death pervading my senses

but to my own personal port of familiar sadness—

My sadness is not blue,

it’s gold nail polish with red lipstick,

black coffee and LED screens

—my own silent island of disenchanted daydreams.

Never Mind.

So here we are again,

the same place, once again,

same conversations, same little confessions,

the same little cabin and cocktails,

collecting seashells for unmade necklaces,

white shirts over floral prints

over red lipstick

over transparent nail varnish

over oyster dinners and supermarket arguments.

The same spot under the same lighthouse:

red paint like our toenails and white like the shells placed in a line upon your back.

still investigating pearls under the bright sun:

golden sand stretched into the

crashing white waves into the

swaying blue surface into the

distant sunset;

year after year: one tight circle of security.

And then,

over the sound of roaring water

I heard you say you had fallen out of love with me.