Which was never meant to be

Circa 1993, a splendid corrosion of old identities

dissolved at a business school

the mindset of allowing

new ipseity to harness itself

took me to my new evanescent dream

which was never to be

a cursory stealing glance from her

through my accounting notes

was enough fodder for my anticipation

somehow lead us to exchange our phone numbers

and the first call was missed

as I was away, attending the “beating retreat”,

a celebration of the republic

it was a joy of the superlative kind

can’t manifest here, in few words

the news of a phone call was full of a beatitude

Delhi was never so beautiful

the next wintry day

made me see

a girl in shawl over few cups of tea

over the terrace of an old building,

a makeshift education space

I scatterbrained myself, off balance

wore a black sweater

matched with her black shawl

traffic flew by the time

gentle breeze swayed her hair

while I was engrossed in her simplicity

the picayune lectures were the last things

in my euphonical mind

that hourly chat

and the subtle undertones

of platonic smiles

with the skies of innocence

was perhaps the best

sound of a mellifluous romance

and a theme for lost sleeps

for many fortnights

but this was a love story

which was never to be

a debacle of certain kind

disturbed by destiny

diluted my perseverance

but forever enshrined

in the density of my mind

Comments

My Seven Girlfriends

Out of my seven girlfriends Six and a half are married one is conscientiously married to her inner, juxtaposed situation the second is married to the innuendos of a rat race, sitting all day without a back rest even on a gloomy dark clouds day the third has chosen a man to quench her hunger of joint fallacies of anger, of greed, of plastic smiles the fourth has married the contours of self obsessed melancholic constructs fifth is an abstract piece of broken clay married to her enigma, which shows in her gaze the sixth is on an eclectic bond with her own split self, a merger of effervescent intellect and a cosmic zombie the first half of the seventh is unmarried lives that part as a quintessential single, open, vulnerable, desolate, creative the second half is married to her traverse past which insulates her from future decadence

Is it love of a decadent kind?

The fact that deep down within me is a desire to be a philosopher doesn’t go down so well with what I feel as down and out human and I am in that mold now as I stop for a while and think of her She makes me appear as a lover when we cuddle up our emotions together and in the hazy shades of the day when she needs to drowse the fires of her insecurities I become her mother I don’t think I interchange the roles by choice every moment is undisclosed and beautiful even though chaotic When I dream of her we lose our inhibitions in the wildest of ways in the morning when I talk to her, I become her friend, again And, I do not touch her but we bare our soul, as naked as it can be and just after that emulsification of minds I become her soul-mate never to be apart in a non-worldly sense Surely there is an attraction Sometimes sublime and immaculate sometimes too boldly honest Sometimes a sinful construct W...

Rise with you

When the sun stretches its golden arms, and the morning whispers your name, I think of you, steady as the tide, warm as the hearth, a beacon in the quiet storm. Your laughter, a melody that dances through the chaos, a song I hum when the world grows heavy. Your spirit, unyielding, a tree rooted deep, its branches reaching for the infinite sky. In your presence, I am more. Not because you fill me, but because you remind me of the light I carry within. You are the mirror that reflects the beauty I often forget. Together, we are a symphony— not perfect, but alive, each note a testament to the joy of being seen, of being known. You are my safe harbour, my compass in the wild, my friend, my love, my vista And when the night falls, and the stars blink awake, I will rise with you not above, not below, but besides, always besides, in the quiet grace of this boundless love. And when the night descen...

Sandeep Kulshrestha's Poetry

Search This Blog