Poetry

Perhaps

Perhaps, in everybody’s life, first meetings are like this 
(I assumed it was our first meeting);

Wearing a peacock blue Manipuri sari I looked for you all over Dhaka, 
Cafe Mango, Charukola courtyard, 
finally, at the cafe of Alliance I found you, 
‘Of Love and Other Demons’ was in your hand.

You looked at me:  your eyes as sharp as cupid’s arrow, 
in the corner of your thin lips, like a Greek sculpture, 
there was longing… to put your arms around me, 
(I assumed it was our first meeting);

You touched me so delicately, 
just like Rodin’s Kiss: pure, calm and cold. 
Could anybody touch love that way, in embraces and in kisses?

As soon as I was able to read you, 
my eyes were fixed on ‘Of Love and Other Demons’ in your hand. 
My blue sari attracted you, 
but Garcia Marquez in your hand kept you at a certain distance;

So, with a strange distance and closeness 
We remain transfixed. 
Becoming eternal, Like Rodin’s Kiss made out of white marble.

Both of us, looked at ourselves in each other’s mirror, 
for one last time (I assumed it was our first meeting) 
But in the calendar of time, 
In truth, it was our last meeting !

34

 

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