Those Moments Poem by Ayan Dasgupta

I want to write
But not for those who surround us,
Not for sorcery or miracles larger than life
But for life itself
Celebrating nothing and lamenting on none
And only for the sake of the moments
That died out
And those that surround us
And those that are yet to be born

I want to write for one moment
And perhaps will write another for the next…

This is not a desire as strong as I have for watching myself,
Standing naked in front of the mirror,
A narcissist
Right in front of a backdropp of those moments,
Each complete within itself and lovingly inane apiece

Timeless though perfectly into time
They are indiscreet
Yet strangely integrated,
These micro-happenings –
Nameless and they don’t need a poet’s hand
To sew them up together,

Believe in ‘silence’ in the truest sense –
Then I too won’t need to summon words
To create a wormhole for you to crawl into

Glorious and omnipresent
They are a way away from all judgments…
Should they be penned down?
These moments
Or those that died a spark ago?
The countless minuscule imprints,
The blemishes, the love scars and the silhouettes?

There is no need to reason –
Fundamental to all instincts
And perhaps instinctively fundamental
They have been sculpted together with time,
Sharing a common soul,
The colors of glory and shame…

Indiscreet, yet just like that
Knitting images at random in a commune
As seen through a window of a fast moving train!
Ah! Those moments –
Do they still need to be penned down?
Just for the sake of keeping them together?
Even after being born every instant to die out into the next?
Don’t you feel the reason?
Then why do you ask?
I am no philosopher
Neither keeper of a morgue.