Somniator

Love must not be demanded, they say. Love is patient, love is kind. But how long do you wait Before he loves you back? 3 days, 3 weeks, 3 years? Have faith, they said. Kisses shared, memories made But so many stories left untold And unheard, so many secrets unwhispered, How do you make up for lost time? What do you do when realization hits you that All the promises and compromises are pointless? Do you loath thyself for this predicament? Don’t all thy hopes seem futile now? How do you pretend it’s okay, when it’s not? Lingering feelings are like the inheritor’s powder, Killing you slowly, without any trace. What then, you ask, is the cure for unrequited love? Maybe focusing on all his flaws will help; After all, he isn’t that charming. Maybe recriminating him is the answer, Or maybe there is no remedy. But as winter approaches this time, With the refreshing aroma of the Saptaparni, I commit to let you go, Being grateful that if nothing else I have learnt ...

How do I travel to the faraway land When I hate goodbyes, A mother’s kiss and brother’s banter Become fresh nostalgia And laughter of loved ones Leave myriad of memories? How do I venture into the unknown When my heart beats with trepidation For I have tasted failure, Despair and uttermost disappointment? Broken dreams are disheartening As much as wrecked relationships. All the same, walk, I shall, Truest desires are difficult to abandon; Admiring my new voyage And the pebbles in the street. Listen to the mountains echoing their histories, And stone buildings whispering wisdom. Shortcomings are never enough But your strengths are yours alone. So sheepish and shy, I bend With naïve expectations and humble beginnings, Daring again once, for myself, For fear is fear itself.

Forget me not, she said. I’ll be there when the snow melts. Remember all the long walks Along the mountainous terrain Where I guided you under the dark clouds And cleared a path for you to travel by. Rosy lips and the sweet chamomile Appears tempting and beguiling; Bewitching are the cherry blossoms. The bleeding heart may declare love, The belladonna disguising as your companion. I, but, can only assist you in the truth. I do not crave your attention Nor your flattering words of praise. What do words mean? Accept me, for I cannot alter. So bequeath all the fabrications And return home to the distant hills, Visit the blue fields of scorpion grass, I’ll be there amidst the fragrance at dusk.