Miracles

Words that had been left unsaid,
Now reverberated as coherent songs.
Hearts that had been all darkness,
Now assumed a most fiery form.
What were once distinct dispositions,
Now turned mirrors to one another.
What used to be dewy dejection,
Now danced in delightful demeanour.
Fine affections embellished our wretched existence,
Minds learned the mute language of love.
Like free, airy spirits we then vanished,
Into the unknown infinity of heavens above.
All this transpired within our secret souls,
Our earthly frames borne to divine shores.
And yet, he asked me, most earnestly,
"What do you think, Miracles happen or not?"

Fitzwilliam's Letter

I met this man: Proud, grave and handsome
And I never knew his first name was Fitzwilliam,
Until that tumultuous morning in Kent,
When he handed me a lengthy letter before he left.
"Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?"
He asked, full of sarcasm, as usual.
It was a stately envelope,
Carrying two sheets of letter paper,
Written quite through, in close hand,
With no aristocratic pretensions,
Displaying few traces of the despicable pride
That always marked his disposition and demeanor.

Too many words,
The ink was not snobbish however.
You could tell by merely touching it,
The quill must have burnt with passionate fire,
Fire of resentment and anger.
But Love was the colour of the ink.
Furious love, that makes one's soul shrink to the core.
Fiery love, that eats up all prejudice and falsehoods.

The paper bore his peculiar scent;
That alluring fragrance of his expensive perfume,
Often mixed with his luminous sweat;
The same bewitching scent I had smelt
When we danced together the first time,
When I had asked him to comment upon the size of the room
Or the number of couples.
Well, he didn't speak much,
That was against his character.
But I talk by rule while dancing, you know,
Just as I listen to people's conversations while reading books.
He didn't get his eyes off me.
I recollected I was not handsome enough to tempt him.
So I thought he was counting the flaws in my facial symmetry.
But he smiled at me!
By Christ! He smiled, without pride, without restraint, with feeling.

I tell you, coming back to the letter,
The gaps between sentences and words were meagre.
As if he was tired of distances, of separation;
As if he wanted to rip apart all the spaces between us;
Yes, he was yearning to come closer, nearer.

O why did I learn that awful letter!
How much I adored the idea of spurning him, despising him forever!
But that was how I learned his full name,
'Fitzwilliam Darcy',
Remember to always prefix it with 'Mister'.

In vain had he struggled, it won't do.
He must admit to me his affections,
Despite my inferior connections,
Despite the meanness of my rank
By birth and circumstance.
So he asked me for my hand,
Against his better judgement, against his rationality.
Damn! What an ingenious design to insult me!
But love is obstinate, untameable and blind.
He still admires me for my impertinence,
Which he slyly calls "the liveliness of your mind".

Let it be

"What all will you do for me?", asked he.
"Nothing much", said I, "just this,
I will ride upon your heart beats and visit your soul.
I will steal your fears and heal your wounds.
I will pamper your aches and praise your flaws.
I will dull your senses and twinkle in chaos.
I will adorn your scars and live your pain.
I will sing your sorrows and bring you rain.
I will hug your hopes and fly your dreams.
I will hear your thoughts and write your tragedies.
I will cease your youth and embrace your style.
I will warm your heart and illuminate your dark side.
I will behold your character and smell your life.
I will erase your words and read your eyes.
I will canonize your truths and worship your lies.
I will resonate your laughs and hoard your smiles.
I will touch bits of your broken heart and love them meanwhile.
I will be your prayers that were not fulfilled.
I will be your wishes that were not granted.
I will be the breeze you wanted to breathe in.
I will be the universe you wanted to live in.
I will be the magic you wanted to see.
I will be the bird you wanted to free.
I will be the miracle you wanted to believe.
I will be the love you wanted to feel.
And if that's not enough, which I think won't be,
Then listen!
I will sink into your soul and kiss your whole existence."
Replied he, "okay, let it be."

Bloody Lesson

Come to my world of blood and screams;
Here you shall hear the silence beyond graves;
Here you shall meet the ghosts of slain demons;
Here you shall learn what books don't teach.
Don't be afraid of this heap of flesh;
They are nothing but rotten dead bodies.
They were once gushing with blood and dreams.
Who could now tell they were once human beings?
What! You cry? You shed tears, why?
Aren't we all doomed to die?
They were killed 'cause their lives didn't matter,
They deserved it for they were low and mean.
Don't tell me this is not fair, my child!
This is how the world is- ruthless and wild.
Come, I'll show you more of them,
But don't ask me where from they stem.
I don't know where they dragged them from,
May be from schools, from farms or their home.
That girl you see there with bruised breasts,
She came to my shop each day to clean the mess.
That dirty lad you see hanging from the tree,
He was low born but happy and free.
He ought not have tasted water from our tubewell,
Now he will burn for his transgression forever in hell.
There, see that woman lying naked ashore the river.
No child, why do you close your eyes and shiver?
This is what I want you to watch and learn.
This is how justice and redemption is done.
You will do the same when you grow up.
Now forget this filth and fill this liquor cup.
Tonight we shall celebrate your homecoming my son;
Isn't this bloodshed of brutes a lot of fun?

Relationship

Let's not have a relationship of slothful Sunday evenings
And wrinkled, crimson bedsheets;
Woeful neighbourhood diaries and midnight office ravings;
Perfect couple pictures and ethereal wall-paintings;
Savory, wrapped flowers and sleek cardboard greetings.
Let us never bring each other
Things that wither away,
Objects that cost,
Happiness that's transitory.
Let us give each other
Ageless echoes,
Priceless smiles,
Perpetual feelings.
Let us tell each other stories,
Stories of pain, of longing, of lunacy.
Forget about custom, sense, loyalty;
Let's spill for one another
Craziness, Messiness, Vulnerability.
Let us stop looking for secrets and spaces,
Allow silence become a form of speech.
Let's not leave each other hollow, empty.
Let's fill our voids with yearnings and affinity.
Let's not just make a home;
Let's become each other's home is what I mean.

Song of Separation

Till eternity was our resolve to be one,
Now Eternity conspires to part us.
Transience plays on its lasting demeanour,
To whisper Songs of Separation in our ears.
But must I leave thee in this fragmented state?
And submit, at last, to my fiendish Fate?
Must dew of thine eyes ink thy florid face?
And Muses abandon our unheard tales?
I see yonder stars slowly fading away,
No light dares cross this dreary-damp way.
Spring is departing, moaning in vain,
No sunlight shall brighten my dark being again.
Leaves fall upon the shore, withered and pale,
From the waters of thy love, I am ordained to sail.
My home: thy bosom, banishes me now,
I stare, benumbed, no sighs to bestow.
Yet, with all thin courage left in my chest,
I make you a promise to revisit thy world blest.
I would happily traverse the regions of the dead,
To see thy holy face, I'd all my life-blood shed.
But, what shall my homecoming ever avail?
I shan't find you hither or even thy smell's trail.
Dauntless dismay shall be my yearning's reward,
For Fate has banished all comfort from my lot.
Nay, Cry not, for our souls can never be apart!
My existence is yours, I am your own part.
But see, the hour of desolation approaches near,
Kindling my spirit with agony and fear.
As I leave thee, I must ask for a drop of tear.
For it shall forever shield me from despair and wear.
Let's asunder then, before the season of patience ends,
Oh dear mother! I must travel to loveless, lonely lands.

Sublime Art

Hence stroking the quill of nature,
He wrote silence
And coherent whisper.
Turning nights into verses and words,
He wrote all that was unsaid,
All that was occult,
In the bosom of clouds and birds' feathers.

He first scribbled regrets,
Desires and sorrows.
Then adorned them with morning stars
And fragments of fragile hopes.
He filled the dreamy paper
With tears, sweat and smiles;
And composing a song of joy, peace and life,
He penned the poem of longing, of love, and of light.

Then he incensed his poetry
To the fragrance of his balmy breath,
Next kissed it and pulled it up
From nothingness.
The words then miraculously
Came to life;
And he saw her person,
Beauteous and divine,
Arising from the sphere of silvery paper;
Coming into physical world
With ethereal shine.

And what he achieved
Was beyond mortal experience.
His fancy, his lunacy
And his perfect audience;
Mused and sanctified
By eternal Providence,
She was the sublime art
Of his humble existence.