Memoir Poem by Satyaki Majumdar

One breezy spring evening,
I sit at my table,
Hoping for poetry.

She's an elusive creature, though.
Luring my imagination
Past the bars that line the window beside me,
Onto the gleaming black road below.

I fall down, then get up again,
Brush the dust off,
And I see her,
Circling the muted half-light
Gleaming in trident white
Against the backdrop of the sky.

That inky canvas,
Where the hopes of millions
Rise as vaporous sighs,
Only to fade
Into the emptiness
Of disappointment.

The wind consoles me, though.
Three fingers blowing gently across my cheek.
And then it hits me.

I miss her.
So much, it hurts.
So vast, so hollow,
That she has entered non-being,
Which is to say, everything.