Skip to main content

You n Me


How do you understand?
How can you when no one else does?
You take time out
Day after day, month after month
Years…
Don’t you feel sick?
Or at least tired or hurt
Or wronged or misled?
How do you deal with your friends
And mine and the folks
Who form the terrible circle
Of semi-intellectual, all-knowing kinsmen?
Tough questions they ask-
“How do you cope up with his whims?”
Or even trickier ones-
“How have you been with him for so long?”
Even I don’t know…
I know I’m strange…
Bitter and rude with awkward ideas and aims…
But it’s easier said than done
To be with someone
Who doesn’t do the little good things,
The silly old things,
The love poems and those songs,
The dedications and the holding of hands…
Someone who shows less care,
 Disappoints and hurts you…
How can you say that it’s him you adore?
You were a fine young girl-
Bright and beautiful,
A reader of romantic tales,
A believer in magic,
An ardent fan of Hollywood courtship…
I watched you grow
To be a fine woman…
So many prospective men-
Could give you all that you dream of…
But you chose to stick on
To one whom you sadly understand
When no one else does…
I can’t say the right things or
Do the right ones…
But if it doesn’t hurt you to stay on
Then you know what to do…
(P.S. Couldn’t say the cheesy line…Sorry)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

WHICH WAY OUT?

Here I see a sinking ship. Only me in it… Slowly the water Reaches my feet… I can’t swim. I can’t think. The brain is numb, The feet are frozen. The hands don’t move, The tongue is parched. What’s the point? Why even try? Let’s sit here. Let’s go down… The eyes soak in The lovely blue Of the sky and the sea- A blue that seems so new. What’s there in life? Never saw this blue When I lived… Did I live? Did I love? Was I loved? Who will cry? And for how long? Doesn’t matter now… I don’t care… Let’s wait and watch… Let’s be one with the blue… Here I sink… Or do I rise? I embrace the blue. But I don’t feel wet anymore. Sea or sky? Where am I? Am I free? “Never” cried a voice. And I touched the old soil Of love, hatred and recoil… Even death played a trick I feel so sick… A betrayed little dog Back on earth to slog…

THE FIRE-FLY

So late into the night, A pale yellow light, The room is all so gloomy. The sorry wreck of myself Perched on the chair, Hitting some notes On the faithful old guitar. The fingers find their way To the chords that may Drive in some fun. But the melancholy minors Are always there to  stay. Oh! A fire-fly! What a delight! Full of it’s happy light… Near the corner of the room It sits down to rest, Spreading its light all along.  I partake of the happiness And the guitar responds With such vigour and joy That the gloom of the room Seems like misty history. The fire-fly starts feeling restless. So much of joy… So hard to contain… Its job is done. It has made me feel so good. Now it can leave And spread the mood around. It takes off, hovers in the air, Goes higher, takes a swing… And oh!!The cruel blade- The return-gift from humanity… It drops down on the table, Its light slowly fading out… I keep ...

OVERLOADED OVERHEAD

An ethereal corporeal footstep Added to the multitude of thumps A monumental mechanical drift Diffused through a temperate corporate pump. Oft in a room full of caffinated keyboards Tapped with the same resonant feel One of the normalised overheads Fails to respond to the drill. As the glass lets in the sunshine It does well to keep out the rain But what would the good glass keep out If the room becomes a marshy terrain? Yet after a moment of murky silence The nervous fingers get back to tapping again. Aritra Chakrabarti, 8.45AM, 15 th July, 2017.