Crimson, a color I had become accustomed to seeing
not on clothes but on skin-
In many imperfectly man-made lines in which-
Brought a distasteful satisfaction of knowing-
I was in fact still alive
At the time it felt nice but now they are something-
I truly despise

I want your crimson—
envelop,
cling,
embody—

Like fractals to rub my hands
       over.

Kindling aplenty
as the snows set in.

We are the fingers of fog
That grasp the hilltop and
Pull the fog eyes up to see
If the sleeping valley below
Needs a blanket.

We are the mist that clings to her stream
Long after other mists have
Retreated to safety.
The mist that forsakes herself,


We are the October late-day light
That deepens the blue
And livens the green
And crowns Crimson
Your fleeting, quick-fading queen.
To distract you from thoughts
Of the cold colorlessness to come.


We are the grainy gray shadows at dusk
That camouflage the vulnerable
And vex the predator
So that the small
May scurry homeward.


We are the soft illusion
Of a bright twinkling cloud glimpse
Of the shy Milky Way
That pulls down the astral children’s shade
And hides the rage of the stars,
Indulging snug earthbound mortals
To dream their snug earthbound dreams
Under the proctor of Venus and Mars.

We are the saving grace
Between you and reality,
The light hand
Upon your shoulder
That keeps you from
Going over the edge.

Standing under the starry sky,
He gazes at the crimson moon.
He is old, solitary and shy
He knows his end is coming soon.

The wind smiles as she passes through him,
Brushing his hair, kissing his cheek.
Playful as she may seem
She knows, he is now weak.

He gazes dreamily at the sky,
Reminiscing the glory days of his life.
Like everyone else, he will also die
But, he is happy as he knows that he will be with his wife.

He wonders as he watches the crimson moon.
He knows, his end is coming soon.










Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018.
All Rights Reserved

A day's oscurity,
shadows.
There are men who live in those shadows
there are men who have lost
all they fought for.
These people are nothing but wanderers
and they wander.

I am destined to join them,
some day,
when I lose all I fight for,
which is shadowed and half lost,
which is close to nothing.