lost autumn

Jodhpur Park, Jadavpur, Kolkata, West Bengal, India.

falling in love

falling leaves,

hold hope

spilling out like sand

in a tight fist,

in the shadows

in between sunlit trees

grows hopelessness,

and the seasons roll around, as ever.


2.46 AM

my mind is coaxed awake from a particularly long train of thought, not yet asleep not fully awake, it seems as if sweet dreams were being brought on

because I woke up in a million years—my soul floating up to the stars—my lips forming contentment in all its lazy, luxuriant glory,

my hair soft—even after ages in the sun—healing in the shade of night—my eyes heavy with the weight of your dreams and my senses are filled to the brim

my eyes are closing—i’m floating back down into sleep’s folding embrace and my mind is full of your soft peach lips and your sun warmed skin and your raven hair thick and curling between my fingers,

and I’m back again in your deep blue room and wind blown white curtains, your tumbling pile of books your unmade bed where your lips touched mine for the first time, your stack of records and films strewn around without a care because—because I’m full of you, you with your well-worn shorts and laughter bouncing off the walls, the evening sunlight turning you golden and Edward Sharpe singing Home.

And I am, I am. I am truly, truly, home.

When I’ll Come Home

Someday I’ll come home

But not just yet.

I’ll be leaving soon,
for greener pastures

Going far,
chasing the horizon
I’ll soak in the sun
Lie on the grass
Listen to the waves
the lapping lullaby.

Someday, I’ll come back.

I’ll climb white peaks
I’ll dive deep seas
I’ll learn an obscure tongue
Try a soup suspicious
wear a dress ostentatious

But, someday, I will come.

When the sun colours me warm
When the seas impart their song.

When the gulfs glitter,
And the sparrows twitter,

When the palm fruits turn bitter.

When the Sun sets orange and red,
And the sands in pink and chrome are set.
When the flamingoes fly home,
And the winds blow North
When day’s symphony is gone.
And I know what it is worth.

Then the night’s silence
And the melody of the stars
will remind me,
Of greener pastures
Of sparkling streams
Of a brick chimney’s steam
Of you –
When in silence and in subtle murmurs
I’ll hear the breeze beckon me homewards

Your silent gesture

I’ll come Home.