And Then We Were Talking Poem by Jyotishman Debnath

Probably we were talking just a while ago
of love desire and grief

you asked me,
'does the rose still blooms in the heart
and the butterflies sing song of spring'?

I replied with a sigh,
' don't tell me about rose
I'm wearing a thorny shirt
and some rippling pain is passing through the heart'

you asked me,
'do you still write love poem?
rainbow and sky
the color of sunrise and set? '

I replied'
' what to say!
poems written with the ink of tears never lasts long
in the garden of late autumn
flower never blooms
and no one writes the history of spring in the petals'

you asked me,
'does your heart still gets red
after seeing the chrysanthemums?

I replied hesitantly,
' the two banks gets wet
when I think of that
flowers are not clouds
and clouds can never be stars'


and then you asked me,
'do you remember that smile?
that Serene smile
painted with the color of rainbow?

I replied in a low voice,

' in a shapeless orbit some anonymous address
is still pinned up
rotating like the pictures of a movie
but the layers come inevitably
as far as I can see from the womb of memory
there are layers of dust,
in teacups, books, relationships
and it is just for namesake
probably heart forgets
so does the eye!
but memory makes another present....


probably we were talking just a while ago..
how much and how far will you ask?
if I say the night will just pass by
no matter what
the world is sleeping now
so lets continue!