Life: Two Parts

Hope

Thy paleness is macabre,

Draining into spiraling snare.

Thy richness is crooning,

As melodious as spring.

You

As the two fat grey pigeons, fated couple, make love—

The swiftness, the fluttering wings, twice, thrice—

On the mossy twig surrounded by the seasonal start,

(Lush lawns studded with white and yellow dandelions;

Recovering trees adorned with whites and pinks;

The roadside poplar with those tiny reddish cone-buds)

As the male falters thereafter like fallen in brooding

With its tiny beak poking into the open air ahead like dreaming

And its bloodshot eyes still burning as to incinerate itself,

As the female, meek yet restive, tries to get closer

In side steps while the male sidles two steps away

And the former repeats the same till the latter hops off,

The sudden dream I have just had flashes back:

There, exhaustive as I have really encountered,

The curves, the things of yours like of a crank,

Or as per my own projections that you could be.

I was there, seeming familiar yet strange place,

The top floor, the single room decked out in your own way—

It was like a glimpse of your nature, the enigma of being.

Those things with the touch of tantric air,

Those hung early clothes of yours like relics

Stared at me. I could feel your strong presence only.

It was like in a hermitage, strange.

I waited and you came at last,

Not in strange robe but in tight faded blue jeans,

The starry eyes, fixed upon me, mute but demanding.

Tattoos, piercing—I have no idea about,

But, for me, like further enigmas.

‘Is it you?’ I asked like awoken after a moment trance,

The trick of a dream-numbness like tethered feet.

‘Yes,’ you said and moved away amid jeers from around.

You didn’t care about them. I felt proud.

But I found you much younger than in your selfies.

Within dream I struggled to prove myself,

I reasoned myself thy coming as per my confidence,

Or for such lucidity as I haven’t seen you ever,

Was conditioned by my pale hope and long thinking about you

Like a lost child hankering for home.

But, yes, it is dream. The reality is ‘impossibility’

As I am no longer visible, valid and there.

But thanks for coming,

It was, for me, coming to give me a push,

A breath to set me free for a second

Before plunging down again…

Yes, it was like coming to save me

At the nick of time like during clear light moment.

Now I am a vagrant soul

Hovering around you without a stir.

Telepathy is long gone,

The medium is defunct now, sadly.