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

A

Your aura is consistently brewing in my intractable mind need I say I am drenched in it? the day I met you, and it is so recent like the flower that has bloomed in this spring of transcendence the beating heart and the soulful parleys co-existed, at least for me, in those three hours the beguilement of your demeanor and the insights of your innocence it is all embedded in the cells of my prefrontal cortex, refusing to vanish, reluctant to let-go I cannot detach your thoughts from my current state of meditative nonchalance and that is how it has to be as a strain of Sun touches the feet when I write this at the cusp where the departing winter morning seduces in its spell I can't help but smile and close my eyes I am smitten in a most undiscernible way It is subtle in many ways, definitely profound from another version of my own truth and there are few side effects my intellect has become more illuminated and I am charmed into new horizons of hope I cannot really e...

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...

Bougainvillea

Truth be told I do not necessarily love or trust flowers They become a poignant humming song for my poetry which is delusionary as it is emerging out of my love for you Few steps aside, there is a bloom let me say it this way on one side they bloom and sell me the free fragrance on the other side of this road is this tiny foliage of the greens and some signs of a lost lake and I see you with a perpetual freshness A music plays somewhere It sounds almost like a cliché I mean the music as if I am a part of a movie It is warm and seemingly romantic but you look at the flowers and feel safe a look of naivety of love and I know your heart It is you that I cherish not because the bougainvillea has bloomed your silent smile fleeces my heart and the flowers, well let us smell the air, for now the shade of Bougainvillea is proudly feasting on your lips and the Sun is shining sporadically on this serendipitous autumn ...

Sandeep Kulshrestha's Poetry

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