Soumya Scribbles...

I Between you and me There is this sea of space. Even the warmth of your blood is not on the floors where my feet are. And in between there is a plastic that burns quietly, without flames, Obnoxious! Between me and you, there is ash. II Three course of meal, and in between, we make love. Morning - I excite. After lunch its you. And before its night, we try. On other days, we sleep, Strangers and hungry. III Between you and me We share ghazals. In a serene night With you around, talking of moon, I play. Life is so good between two songs. We live the moments in pauses. IV You surprise me with bright sunflowers at times, The other day you come and embrace when I am still sleeping. Simple Sun enters my room, finds an excuse and lies beside me. You drop the curtains. I smile in dreams. - Thus, Tilting an usual square, we make a story of our own, in a rhombus. SoUmY@

In a suave Indian lounge some people gather to party. Posh as they are, and as is the word, they show all of it and much more than you may wish to see. With some Peter Colonial Country shirt and with a perfume that arrogantly bosses over the air of a third world country, they laugh and fall over each other, 'unnecessarily' is a word so true to its own existence. Beyond their attire, they are conscious of keeping their feet on the ground and so bring plastic flags which feebly depict a tri-color a third world country should. They take positions, one after another, finding their partners as only a neon light glows inquisitive of the emotions, pride or lust. There starts the National Anthem. Importing independence and democracy onto themselves, some fold their legs, some lean back, some talk over a boring lyric and the others, if left, sing along. After that, all clap, more as a relief than of a passion. Even the big cotton flag, despite the artificial wind around, embarrassingl...

There are people for whom A does not precede B. May be I am one. At times beneath the banyan tree you have touched my hand in one moment that we can not recreate. I was to take yours and press a bit, shelter your cold palm in mine. I have only smiled. At times inside a lonely tram, along the roots of our heritage city and with an ageing conductor, you have wished I will cuddle and plant a kiss, perhaps. Spring has come, but I have sat like a tree where winter still hails. Stoic, willing, wishing and still desperately, wishing. At times while argumenting You have tried to fight, jostle. Anger is the flame of love's impurity. You have tried to burn us together. I have kept silent Having hundred questions to ask you but never could, even one. I have let you win, always. I have let you lose, thus. In high fever, one night, Trembling you have murmured, " Come unto me". 'Passionate' the lover I am, have stood still. Gently touching your forehead I have let you sleep. In...