Penman

By Shourya Sinha

O’, darling, how beautifully you’ve enchanted me.

Nothing else shall matter, you’re all I can see.

This world can crumble, you’re all I care for.

And if it does, darling, I’ll build you another for sure.

With those pearlescent brown eyes, as if the onset of dawn,

So many layers within, an ocean so richly adorned

With li’l islands of fleck, like the freckles on her skin,

And a gleaming glint, it’s such a ruthless tint.

And with her head-turning hair, a waterfall of topaz,

Shiny like a mirror, something you can’t just walk past,

Yet free like water, flowing like heaven’s rivers,

A fervent forest of fragrance, evergreen forever.

She reeks of royalty, she screams sartorial splendour,

She casts a gorgeous light, as if demanding reverence.

She’s a storm of emotion, a whirlwind of colour,

As if an angel on the cusp of divine transcendence.

She came closer, the heavens looked on.

My world spun, it turned and transformed.

Her eyes pierced my soul, they hung me affixed,

Staring back helplessly, as if under a vice’s grip.

She took another step, and the Gods gasped.

My world shook, like some Titans just passed.

But on the doorstep of repletion, thunder struck the ground,

As if we invoked Zeus’ wrath, for daring a love so profound.

She faltered, and the stars trembled.

My world split apart, it razed and levelled.

A terrible tide took over, biblically baneful,

And I drowned in it, for daring to love unfearful.

Yet the clock struck eight, I woke up to fate.

I realized I wasn’t at heaven’s gates.

With a deep sigh, I got out of bed,

But my mind was on her, whom I could never quite get.

I peered out the window, looked up at the sky.

I locked on the moon, so far yet so nigh,

Just barely visible, fading into azure yonder,

And I sat by there. I thought and I pondered.

The sun fell, the moon took its place,

But a dark shroud still stood over my face,

Until a faint whisper came tickling my ear.

My eyes spun and focused, and it all ‘came clear.

I peered out the window, looked up at the sky,

I pierced through the stars, hanging up so high.

And I saw here-there, the lover I couldn’t love,

A mosaic of the stars, right there, up ‘bove.

My eyes gleamed, I couldn’t believe the sight.

What had just come to me this lonely night?

Was I being fooled? Was this another dream?

But I couldn’t care. I knew my lover was loving me.

She’s everything, I’m just a writer.

I’m mouldy, cold bread, she’s a warm campfire.

But the gods have willed it, I’ll be of some use.

I’m just a penman, but she’s my immortal muse.

By Shourya Sinha