The Tryst

I had seen him come through the pale moonlight

on a dark stallion, with a sword in one hand

and a rose in another. His face was covered

by the purple darkness and he had come,

galloping, like a lightning, like a bolt, like a storm.

Tearing the shadows of sad existence he had

appeared before me, his eyes shining like the blades

of silver fire and the rose he held out for me was dark.

His eyes were full of emotions I did not know.

What did he want? The dark rider?

I dare not ask. I dare not dream. I dare not speak.

He bent down as I stared, hypnotised, as eyes swept

my face with a yearning glance and a pleading.

I took the rose and held it close,in a trance

of magic and a strange intoxication.

And suddenly he moved and out of nowhere

I was swept off my feet as he had pulled

and flung me around somewhere. All I could see

was his dark silhouette around me and deep

hot breath on my lips and a burst of colours

in the sky high above.Eyes closed, lips melt.

A whiff of cold wind caresses my flushed skin

as I open my eyes and find myself on the silver sand

of an unknown desert. I look around for my strange

lover but stretches of sand lie all around,empty.

Was it but a dream? Was he but a shadow of a

mind feverish with the sordid loveless life?

The sands know no answer and the cactus sighs.

And then,my palms feel softness.

A dark rose lies on the mellow sand, sweating.

Majh raater lines

janalar gorad dhore bose thake chand
shwet mukhe tar onek khani opekkha.
neel heeme bhore jae sossho khet,

neerob bhasae apluto faka rasta.
kol balishe dhaka thake prarthona,
r ak ayna sopno-bhora chokh hoy sojol.
gacher mora daale kobey
futbe uthey rokto shimuler kuri,
r ak mutho somporker ushno ta

chhoriye porbe rupoli jyostnae.
janalar gorad dhore bose thake eka chand
tar chokhe makha thake neel opekkhar kajol.

The Albatross Speaks

I spread my wings and stand on the highest point.
I may fly. I may not. Its my wish.
And your need or prayers.
I am an albatross, my wings span the width
of the dark night as the mercuric silver sky
shines above. I let out a cry and tear the
obtuse silence. Love me. Hate me. You need
me. If you try to kill me, my corpse shall
hang on your neck, as a sin and a cross.
Redemption for revenge. A hard bargain.
I am within you, permeated through your
existence. Look within, my wind you breathe
and you have nothing inside but me alone.
I stand before you. An albatross, an angel,
Satanic powers, a shadow of love and salvation.
Choose how you want me -- a dark desire or fair?
You have tasted my blood and eaten my flesh.
You cant escape. Come to me bandey, come home.
You are mine and mine alone.

POSTLUDE

The last show is over. The screen blank.

All the words, laughter, colours, songs,

Glitz, glam and melodramatic emotions

Are over. No more love. No more pain.

The screen shall blank forever remain.

Phrases, lines, promises and catches

Of songs replay themselves in the black.

And the flashback starts with a jerk

Behind closed eyes. The voices heard

For the last time, resound and doze off.

A glass of wine held in cold hands

Trembles with unfulfilled hopes,

Aspirations false. Darkness clouds in.

The colourless poison mixes well

Drop by drop

Into the lusty red wine and

Disappears in the taste of wasted grapes.

The hall is large and dark and empty.

The chairs are where people have been.

The steps to the podium rise and go

Nowhere but sigh at the nothingness.

The screen is blank, dark and wears

A dark mourning shroud. Silence.

Eyes close and the icy cold air enters

The nostrils in a long long breath and soothes

The burning skin and inflamed insides.

Promises and dreams break away like

Shattered glass. And a salty drop

Plops into the still wine and dissolves.

Lips touch the cold edge of the crystal wineglass.

And sip it in as do the eyes of a lover drink his

Beloved’s face with a strange yearning

And smear her face with love dreamt and discarded.

The final dreg and a kiss on the edge are all

That shall remain, as remembrance and signs

Of a forgotten tomorrow, a forgotten love

And an intoxicated belief of peace in death.

A dream awakening

As eyes close in the desire of animated colours and dreams spell a charm on them, somewhere a magic land awakens to a newborn light. Castles and cottages, wear a shade of slate blue and the eastern sky blushes with a reddish tinge. The magic-man plays on his flute then, a sweet tune. Flowers open their petals and peep out to see who that player is and how he plays such a sweet note. Birds happily come out of their shady nest in pairs and join in the sweet tune. And he plays on, as the sun kisses the horizon with a passionate reddish orange and the sky brightens with elated joy. In their togetherness, they brighten and morning shines through.
In the castles and cottages, eyes open and listen to the liquid music. They lie in their beds and the music seeps through their brains and soothe their souls. Some feel joyous, and want to run out towards a green happy day. Some feel the harmony and sing along a rustic line or two. Some turn towards their close ones lying beside them and hold them warmly close. They feel lucky enough to have loved ones, a family and God's grace. Some close their eyes again and the face of their beloved one swims before their eyes. They marvel at the inexplicable joy that fills their heart and also a stab of pain. A hundred words travel through their minds all desiring to be spoken -- to him, to her. The music plays on. Some lay tight on their bed as memories of their wrong doing grasp them tight and kill their souls. Some weep in remorse, some weep in lamentation and some weep sadly, all alone. Some little eyes go back to sleep as the music whispers a lullaby. Some sit up and thank the Lord and pray for happiness and peace for all and sundry. Mothers kiss their little children. The sun glows with a warm shine as lovers melt away.
But where is the magic man? Where does he brings his music from and what is he playing of? Is it the music of joy and love? Does it speak of the pain in his heart? Is he in love? Where does the magic lie? Where is the magic man? He is not by the river bank, nor in the shady haunt of the hills, nor in the garden of wild flowers in the meadows. Where is he then? And what song flows from his magic flute? Can you hear it dear reader? Do you know?