Stop calling me ‘sweetheart’! I don’t think I deserve to be called by that name. You don’t even know the rest-of-me. I have spent sleepless nights, thinking how it would feel if I wouldn’t have been ‘I’, how I would have written those old withered dampened pages of my diary. Erased and written once again i.e.! I could never hold you, bind you in a name? No matter how much of those hours in solitude, I couldn’t bring back the words I had once thought out for you, once upon a time. My pen, my mind was suddenly meandering to nowhere. On the verge of losing the path into the unending seas. No, I couldn’t keep calling you by that name. Somebody has sucked the words out of my mouth.
I want to kick up the dust and see them hang into thin air, in front of my eyes. Glistening and sparkling, like the polka-dotted suit you always used to wear; plotted against the blue azure skies, with puffy lumps of white clouds streaming away in the background. Just as the melting sun slips down, below the western horizon, I want to take up a magic wand and turn those glittering dust hanging by that invisible thread into sparkling, blinking stars. And then trace my fingers from one star to the other. In a search named “you’.
Just like I painted your name with my fingers on the foggy window pane, last night, when it rained like never before, and when everyone else slept, the palash tree, even you..!
I want to meet you once again in a faraway autumn, just like we did it once in the past. I had slept like a baby, last night, after it stopped raining. The rustle of the palash leaves woke me up; the dawn was so subtle, as if the world is down after the heavens cried last night. I turned aside with the last traces of sleep lingering in my eyes, refusing to go away, denying the presence of the dawn, I touched your hands; I felt so!
I didn’t want to let go of that feeling, and you too, didn’t mind. You rested your chin on my chest, and look into me with those soft melting eyes of yours. Every time you would bat an eyelid, I felt as my heart skipped a beat. And you would always remember to laugh at my stupid jokes. A whirlwind of emotions had started brewing. Remember how we used to empty the sugar pack into the cappuccino very slowly and it would gradually dip into the creamy coffee, plop!!? Looking at your eyes, made me feel like that. And you would laugh again. I wanted to fucking burn the frozen sun. And. Let. Time. Stop. Even the palash looked happy for us.
I just dropped the curtains, turned around, hugged the pillow and heard the palash weep, at the other end, the whirlwind that rose like a phoenix is again dying..!
The things that I couldn’t feel with you by my side, I make my solitude a slave. I would make ‘her’ cry with me, laugh at me, hide her face in my shirt and blow those airy kisses that would make me defy gravity. She loves me when I cup her face, draw her close to me, and whisper to her ears, “are you scared, baby?” I have always adored the red of her lips, and I would secretly watch those reds as they would subtly touch the edge of the coffee mug. I never told her, how much I loved the smeared layer of the cream that smudged the reds to somewhat-pink. I frantically searched for a reason to fall in love again, in those reds, and I am happy that I found no rose more beautiful than you.
It’s raining again, as I finished my coffee sitting at the balcony, staring at the lonely road. A lone dim lamp-post, half hidden by the wet, bending palash tree. A taxi passes by very slowly as if visibility is down to zero.