The Shadow of Her Smile

By Bhargab Das

On my homeward journey to the airport

I contemplated the essence of my being.

These rustling trees in the squealing storm,

With the fierce lightning beyond,

Now, I infuse tranquility into my consolidatory hollowness.

Caressing her face, the gentle breeze played

With her curly wayward strands;

Falling over her face,

Now rested behind the ears, her silken tresses.

Under the dappled shade, where we have reclined,

The afternoon sunrays weaved through foliage

Scintillating her ever glowing visage,

Casting a mosaic of shadows, as if

Deliberately decorating her countenance.

“You’re God’s own ‘kintsugi’”, I wanted to whisper;

She needs no introduction. Yes, She’s from God’s own country.

Behind us, was one rendezvous Graveyard.

A Graveyard where dreams do not exist and where reality meets truth.

“Have you ever visited a Graveyard?”, I inquired her with a playful lilt.

As gracefully as the sun approaching the horizon,

She nestled closer against my shoulder.

‘Yes, when I had attended my grandfather’s cremation.’

Denying me a glimpse of her moist eyes,

She gazed into the distant skyline.

With the weight of an aggregated episode of triggered backflash,

‘Have you ever mourned the loss of a beloved to death?’

She murmured, her voice slightly dampened.

Her reconnaissance compelled something deep within me.

“Yes. Me. Myself. Lossing me to myself.” I affirmed her with unwavering resolve.

The sky was adorned in blend of cobalt and Prussian blue.

As if the canvas itself was the palette.

Some strokes of His brush

Embellished the clouds in titanium white,

By the enchanting dusk.

On the way back to the parking lot,

She whispered, ‘This reservoir was constructed by the King

As a memorial to his beloved wife whom he had loved dearly.’

The trees stood sentinel, their boughs adorned like courtiers,

Fabricating this path as a sacred avenue;

As if this royal camaraderie, meandered along the reservoir’s edge

Walking down the aisle for the last time.

Once again, this pathway witnessed a timeless romance.

It was my last day at hostel.

The cab has arrived. My luggage packed.

My soul bifurcated.

One ready to set on an unknown voyage,

Another, assigned as a Guardian of her happiness.

As the time finally arrived,

I stood poised for my departure.

Her voice trembled,

Barely above a whisper, she mumbled,

“If you’ve forgotten anything in the room,

I’ll send it to you later.”

O beloved, I had been always aware how you have sought yourself

Within my poetry,

Looking for our promised renaissance.

‘I cannot reclaim what I’ve left within you;

It’s the only farewell present I can offer.’

My sinking heart found hard even to arrange those words.

As the cab pulled away from the hostel gate,

I lost all my courage to glance back.

The sight of numbness welling up her eyes

And the ache that would forever reside in my own

Is what the Graveyard dreams are about.

The Graveyard where dreams do not exist.

The Graveyard where reality meets truth.

By Bhargab Das