A white cloak of a shy anecdote
A shy remembrance of a serene quote
Quoted some moments ago-
Of coquette and sensual bliss,
An innocence matted with a fresh breeze.

Those eyes could never lie;
With sand heaving down on her *******,
Her heart weeps for a caress
But all she gets is a rebuke:
Blending the imbroglio to deeper depths.

Late though it was; came by-
A hope; an outline of somber reversed,
Pristine of thought and complete with chivalry
A distinct epitah of orchids mellowed,
And a fragrance of an unkempt prose.

The moments of those transient powerlessness;
The time when she felt weak at her knees;
She was somebody’s love then,
Somebody’s queen she was
Such was the power of love.

Her heart at last sang her sangeet,
Shahnias and santoors draped her bond amused,
Trousseau she had was all beautiful,
For the first time; she had not been shy;
Her love was now somebody’s prayer.

-by Sauvik Dey.

With no make on and eye lash hangin’
Pumping on E. bassy travelling the subway
Friday jumps on you, with expectation galore: Drink, gloat, sitting on-
Refurbished old rustic sofas on the far end of the bar.

Would your TGIF be a spent screaming over the music?
To make yourself heard with sweaty drunk happy hearts grinding?
Or would it be a cosy comforter holding you tight-
While you binge on anything scrolled now since the dragons flew?

Measuring ourselves to our own scales is-
Scary, if mildly put; social beings we are, to be, is a need-
But contentment may lie in unexpected unsocial moments sometime then-
As the years grey by, clear becomes the crystal, ever much so.

Random thoughts of a wandering mind;
Smother not, caress quietly- tune into some AI’d playlist;
Put on that conversation repellent, we all call earphones
And glow warmly in your sweet company, for it is TGI’my’F.

Standing at the door of a coach
The train cuts through plains and valleys
Like a raft with wide oars albeit
Expressed in heaving breathes it soars.

It would take a season each to belong
He knew and blew his horn along, for he;
Who runs between rails and moves from-
Where we are to where we want to be.

"Haathi jaaye bazaar kutte bhawkein hazaar",
Not far fetched enough not to relate
A thousand remedies come and go
But the brute force of it remains.

Here is an elephant
We knew; we always did-
It knows as well; it always did;
No love lost was the truth indeed.

What are we to make of the day-
When murky do nights' end lay;
The loud rumble of the engine drown-
All doubts to vitality wipe all frown.

Life itself ran between the rails
Aboard the train, by the door, I stand,
Looking at age as it passes me by;
With stories which cradle and soothe me by.

The golden light caresses the horizon,
Almost like a rainbow flushed out one final go-
Before the world is devoid of light for the next two ‘prahars’ of the day.
The time when we bearing the weights of extended tutoring or -
The day job, come out, to public squares
Take roads illuminated by street lights to a destination where -
There is either a plate of food waiting on or aperitifs to begin a night a revelry.
Both fulfilling.
But, gluttony kicks in, which is almost second nature,
To gorge on (circa Harari, Yuval Noah).
In inebriation, inhibitions take a hike; the decisions to call/text people are usually very wrong.
We need to accept that the things we do then,
It’s what we wanted to do all along but societal/personal pressure - Inhibitors do not let us, which blow off when alcohol blurs them.

2017 has had been a constant struggle internally;
I have had heartbreaks of many a kind
And clutches of vice of mind were gripping ever strong.
But I survived,
I don't if I am stronger now but-
All I know is that I braced
And I'm a slightly different man.
I hope 2018 brings me happiness;
Brings me contentment;
Brings me success & joy;
Bundled in surprises that I can rejoice.

That eerie feeling of impending doom-
Doom that is not Armageddon or apartheid;
But a hiccup that could put a wrinkle on your path
The one, you can feel but not explain.

Your, being, scream caution to your limbs
Your head is in a swirl of mixed emotions
Anger and exasperation sync on an unlikely tandem
Time slows and you could hear the nano clicking ticks.

Sapiens, we are, and we need to believe
For the feel in our jellies, are stories
Floating passed through generations-
Sands of time: unsettling, familiar, close encounters.

I am waiting by a dark alley
In the Village that promised me, Sally -
A lamp flickers far off the north end,
Walking am I for months to make my ascent.

The roads riddled with *** holes and bends,
Towards that golden hue end;
Is this an urban mirage I see -
Am I close now to feel thee?

So many questions of anguish, burst my heart;
Yet stoic I stand in my rundown heels with dirt,
Tears run down as my head hits my pillow, I know not yet
If the universe conspires to fall in love with me.

-Sauvik Dey

Forevermore, a memory is made
Untouched, by anything, but:
The two souls who mould it so-
Inanimate but alive of human touch.

But, sometimes, in a case of 94 to five
The human touch takes a little more then just love
It arrests you, your nectar;
Seething, moulds your sweet surrender sour.

Toxic, to every free flow of your vitality-
Shaming, your existence to their ‘tough life’
Morose, sombre clouds over your brow, wieghing
The blur thickens, you forgo joy, you forgo life.

Somewhere near a silver lining greets, a silent soul:
To who you bare your bruises blue!
Who you’d listen, hug while you bawl your weight away
Maddening, long and arduous walk, though-

From silently staying till the choke gets harder
To moving away when the final straw is drawn;
All it takes is one step-
To be human again, to make new memories-

Of human touch, of love, off broken but a whole heart.

It’s a long walk through life,
where lies the door to leave all behind.
The kindling hope to reach those fields someday is undeniably romantic; but,
A little unfair to the little flowers that bloom by the cornices and woodworks,
our long term and distant plans overlook.
Little bundles of joy, swaying in the little gusts of wind,
Factories of fragrance, blooming and bustling of life,
Serenity and if we call it, love.

Textured bark of a sawed down tree
Reshaped mahogany that you see
Was once a mighty lung for earth to breathe-
Now holds your wall together easy.

Tilting the lens away, keeping steady; in a close encounter with the wood.
‘We, owe nothing to anyone’, though true;
Makes no sense when you **** he very house you ought to live in'
Slash n burn, felling, charcoal making -
But it is turning the hill into a naked land.
Dusty roads, lack of water, scorching heat in the summer and seething cold in winters, all extremes unsuitable for the living.

For years did she wait, a worthy lover
One who would caress her soul;
For the many she met and would-
Bared their conscious, elusive remained the soul.

Years in years passed by,
Promises, absurdity and the promised projection
None could keep up, the exponential expectation
Bared their reality, elusive remained the vulnerability.

In crowds of acquaintance, she searched:
Friend’s barely held hands, detached:
The mystery we seek, thrill attached:
The change we seek, comfortable no strings attached.

As the water condenses on the skin.
I hold and raise the inviting golden dusty textured liquid to my lips.
Exquisite as it was, it played with convention and I liked it.
So much so that my YouTube feed would full of it today (yes, no point denying my SM dependence)
On a regular day, I would lemonade myself -
To get my sanity back from excruciating hangovers.
But we say not today to the god of mixing.
Infusing ginger ale with Gin and lemon,
It made the holy trinity of crossovers and delivered on a late to office Tuesday me;
Who is pleasantly happy about the ordeal.