They say -

At twilight,

at that moment when the blue night falls on the world,

the world becomes silent,

silent for a moment,

like the audience in rapture after the curtain drapes down the stage.




Perhaps it is this moment- the moment of complete silence

when I hear a muffled voice say your name.

Where are you?

Who else is with you?

Saying what?

Are you busy?

Making big endeavours in a still bigger world?

Or are you thinking of me?

Remembering the smaller moments of my small world?




Why does love come on me

and the whole of me wants you in the evenings,

when the hills recede into blur lines

and the gloomy trees into erasing shadows?




Often I have sat in the steps

Thinking,

Watching the sun sway behind the purple clouds.

Watching it display the wonders of melting into a darkness.

Of dying.




The food has turned cold.

You will be late-as always.

When you will come you will be preoccupied-as ever.

I know you will move into the room called “self”.



 

Where is the key to this room?

Do I have it?

Do you?

Or is it lost?

Lost and gone like the sun.

And we?

We will recede like wonderless, dark silhouettes

Into our “selves”

Into an oblivion

Into death.

( Poem Published in Assam Tribune as a series of poems titled Melancholy Moods and as a part of a write up in The Eclectic. )