This is a long one, so bear with me. Already chucked the beginning thrice.
It was in fate that I saw her and the morning was full,
I Remember You As You Were, as your silky hair had a vigorous pull.*
As she sipped her tea and smoke of her cigaret ran Almost Out Of The Sky,
her castle was well walled, which no intruder could occupy.
From her inked moon, The Light Wraps You cold,
but etched sun warms me In My Sky, At Twilight of colour gold.
Drunk with pines, shameless I stood, to unravel the box of Schrödinger’s cat,
maybe, I should’ve kept away, just not to find out the result I was at.
Bewildered, unknown to her own beauty, she loved her love for black & white,
Ah, Vastness of Pines couldn’t stand her immense churned soul, it shone so bright.
To capture her in the moment, telling her, I Like For You To Be Still,
oh, how could I forget this rust has been through a lot of chills.
We Have Lost Even on our ends according to our reckons,
though, we chose books & music as our respective weapons.
She said she is a self-loather to a point of hell,
I agreed, its the exact level where we would connect well.
Her name was no different than the name itself, holding her anonymity,
where she confessed to being helpless against her own captivity.
She argued about her itchy voice on which I had always differed,
that poem in her tone, will be any day, hour or moment, preferred.
I Have Gone Marking her an ambivert as she look at me and away otherwise,
because she fears that eye contacts are not at all wise.
Had to put an end to my Thinking, Tangling Shadows of hers on my thoughts periphery,
for now I had to leave our first meeting, outcome of just another imagery.
Leaning Into The Afternoons, overworked, I was bundled to another planet,
when my phone made a buzz and the caller’s name was nothing less than volcanic.
Her exclamation was pleasing on something similar I wrote,
I swear I could infer the fragrance of her favourite kurta from a mile apart boat.
It is to the time, I mistook her brother for a dog by no mistake of my own,
why couldn’t I make her cemented bubble crack, pop or a little more prone.
Her nose ring like a White Bee was no less than a sword,
similar to a sting, it could rip off a heart, and a connecting cord!
Those 27 priceless bucks she spent on nonsense exchanged with me prior to sunrise,
didn’t match up 76 coins from her purse that were never capitalised.
Every Day You Play another role unique than rest,
but I know she would echo that 60 years old lady prof in white saree, the best.
She whispers to her plants, Here I Love You,
the silence gets jealous, making a noise, So That You Will Hear Me too. Alas!
I’ve asked for the presence of grace before she or I die,
to which she responded I will one day guitar guy.
Perplexed, I stand again with another box, a digital one this time,
I wish I hadn’t open it, because not all poems end in rhyme.
I wish for so many ends to this poem in each parallel universe to add,
But I guess it will have an indistinguishable, from the one we had.
Thanks for stopping by.
P.S: The write up is inspired from & holds 17 references to titles in:
“20 love poems and a song of despair” by Pablo Neruda.
P.P.S: Maybe I’ll never see you.
*Though it couldn’t keep the hair-band gravitated enough.