It Ends There On The Imagined Pages Poem by Dipankar Das

A midnight's deafening silence, strangled throat
And a ceaseless deadening darkness, blurry eyes...
When one's swollenness doesn't shroud him anymore...,
When he stills himself lying on a daily chair, without table...,
When his yellowish eyes don't worry at anything
But a milder and untold face in the receding layers of memory...!

A name, an ever awakening passion, a revitalizing liveliness,
Red lips, animated smile, and a moment's lustrous wordlessness...!
Such desirous day-nights, and then a much eluded estrangement...!
All these absences strangely hover around his rattled mind...!

Suddenly, a disturbing wind's blow breaks his heart,
Smoothens the flow of blood; calmness, silence and stillness!
Desperately, he imagines a table before,
On it a blank page and a purple pen in the hand...
He writes and writes, never stops,
And nobody reads his story ever,
It ends there on the imagined pages...!