What am I without you?
Sunken ship or abducted plane
Flat tires or derailed train
What am I without you?
Corrupted i-pod or west Bengal drama
Stolen Playstation or rage-less Tamil cinema
What am I without you?
Tempered truth or faithless prophet
Updated bible or a losing bet
You are my fame in a bottle or shortcut to happiness
Perfect symphony or a rescued princess
As I sum this up hear me out my darling:
You are the difference between everything and nothing
If clouds were my ride and bolts were the fuel
I’d wait outside at 8 for my ‘_ _ _ _’ the Jewel
If Leopard could lend the legs or birds had spare feather
I’d challenge speed of light no matter what the weather
Purest drop of water when oceans running dry
Last flicker of courage when hopes a far cry
Best piece of Mozart in a world without sound
Answer to most important question; that was searched but never found
The journey I relish
The memory I cherish
The beauty and the grace that
Makes my constellation falling into place
Cruise in the oceans then climb over mountains
No matter where ever you roam… I’ll be your home.
Through with restless days, numb feet root in ground,
Weary heart says, ‘Hold her’… you’ll have my shoulder.
Where ever your fate’s driven; below hell or above heaven
Our hands will be clasped together… any option given.
You are mine till the day sun doesn’t shine,
Million verses will be ‘a few’, just know that:
I was destined to love you.
I write my verse in million stars
Length goes beyond moon to mars
Someday when I won’t be around
Stars will whisper the songs in sound
Listen to that interstellar melody
All be about you ah! Sweetened irony
When your heart’s too heavy and reason is me
Know my sweet love it’s meant to be
Where ever I stay no matter how far
Will read your wish on every shooting star.
It’s rush of love to brush up stain
to crush all emotions into heart
Trusted nobody could’ve casted a spell
that busted uncertainties from my chart.
I’m odd and you are even it’s fate that we met
as different as it can get
But oh! My cute pet you bet
without us getting together there’d be
an incomplete number set
Love is so pure more like a cure
heals you for sure once you fall in
From the first sight, it feels so right
I held on tight saying ‘I’m all in’
I’m what you didn’t have
and you are what I wished for
Pray so that I love you forever
And your love grows even more
Rain always has a greater significance in my mind. I refrain myself from considering it from mere scientific viewpoint. Especially when the rain represents the spectacular Monsoon; inspiration of millions of literary minds… I can’t help myself. Rain has magical attribute of reflecting the state of our minds. Rain can be sad. Rain can be cheerful. I tell a dramatic story about how rain originates here in this sub-continent. Hear me out, it’s a romantic one. Once Bay of Bengal fell in love with Summer. It was okay at first but as time went by their feelings went sour. Summer being a highly ambitious girl, unsatisfied with whatever Bay of Bengal had to offer; always sent hurtful resentment (scorching heat of summer) to his mind. His sadness (evaporated sea-water) heightened to the sky. One day an amazing girl (cool air above) came into the life of this saddened man. They fell in love with each other. With her graceful touch of love, condensed sadness of Bay of Bengal melted down on earth from his teary eyes in form of rain. Occasionally, it floods here due to too much rain when their love spill over from heart. So, to me rain is tears of joy; symbol of a remarkable romance.
I came to visit my parents at my village home. It’s been raining here all day since yesterday. I didn’t go out yesterday. I stayed laid on bed and read Shattyajit Roy all day. My bed is just beside the window. Last night when raining I opened the slide window. I could listen to its enchanting melody till very late at night. I felt sad. Loads of memories from past came crashing in. That song from Hypnogaja was playing on repeat inside my head:
“Here comes the rain again
Falling on my head like a memory
Falling on my head like a new emotion
I want to walk in the open wind
I want to talk like lovers do
I want to dive in your ocean
Is it raining with you?”
But Luke Bryan says rain is a good thing not a sad thing:
“Rain makes corn; corn makes whiskey
Whiskey makes my baby, feel a little frisky”
Today I woke up early and promised myself to enjoy the whole day. It went far better than what I expected. Now I want to say to Luke that we don’t have to look forward to this kind of chain course of actions to justify how rain fills our heart with bountiful happiness. It’s easier here in Bangladesh. Trust me all you need to do is ‘Step Outside’.
It was cloudy before dawn. Sky looked like a glowing blue ceiling on which grey cottons were glued in uneven scattered way. Drizzly breeze blowing past me while I kept looking at the sky. Suddenly a flock of black throated divers interrupted my view… happy interruption. They were out on a hunting mission. Wind was chilling. I found myself craving for a cup of hot tea. I asked mum if I could have it. She replied ‘In a minute son’. Amazing woman my mum. We have a boat in our pond. It is used for picking fruits from trees that extend over pond. It’s fun eating fruits while riding boat around pond. I finished my tea and prepared boat to have a ride around. It was fun. Although there was an umbrella fixed on it I couldn’t continue my relaxation due to sudden heavy shower. I ran back to house. As I was standing at the gate and wishing to go on another ride if rain stops I noticed something. First I thought it was couple of bug bitten leaves. When I looked closer I saw a nest of ‘Tuntuni’ bird. There were 4 eggs in that nest cradled safely with two leaves. Beautiful crafting by their parents. I waited at a distant to catch a photo of the nest along with the birds. Well, I failed.
We have a fish project behind our home. To reach there I had to cross a jungle in the middle. People say paranormal stories about this jungle. Some say, once a girl came here to collect dry logs for cooking. She never came back home. When people searched for her in that jungle; all they found was a bundle of dry log and her footwear. No trace of that girl. Some claim to see a lurking white creature half tiger half human roaming around with a skull on his hand. With intensity of trees this place always looks like ‘afternoon on its way’. On rainy days like this when sky hosts dark and grey; this place turns into a mysterious scary heaven of spirits. But these days, people deforesting the area and building houses so evil falling before threat. Whenever I visit my village I never miss to visit the fish project. That area reminds me of an ideal rural area with acres of cultivated land, farmers with traditional dress, young cowboys herding cattle and children playing barefooted on mud and what not! Never fails to serve an enchanting heart-thrilling panoramic view. But now this place looked like a plain sheet of water. The farmers became fishermen; throwing nets from boats, children fishing with small triangular fishing gear while young cowboys brought their cattle to feast on fresh green grass. There were ‘Kadam’ flowers and water lilies everywhere. It was a sight to behold.
It was almost noon. I was roaming around for a long time. I needed a shower. Just when I thought about this, in no time rain started again. I put my phone in a polythene bag and prepared for a natural bath under cloudy sky. I saw a group of boys having good time trolling one another and slipping on the mud. I remember when I was a kid my dad never let me play on a rainy day like this. I could hardly go out. He is a doctor… rest of which should make sense. He was at his medical center so nobody kept me from soaking in the rain. Although I didn’t join those kids cause it would look weird for 20 years old boy like me. But my soul did play along. After taking shower both in rain and in pond, I went back home. I was really hungry after all those walking and swimming. When I entered home I found smell of ‘Vuna khichuri’. I changed clothes and walked into kitchen to see what’s mum had been preparing for lunch. I was right. Vuna khichuri with roasted duck and mango pickle……yummmm!
After having lunch I gossiped with my mum and sister about the day, showed these photographs and was catching up all of our stories. My sister and I stay at the capital to study. We study at the same city but we hardly see each other. My parents stay at the suburb. My dad’s hospital is in this area. So loads of stories to share when we reunite. It was raining outside, we were watching through the glass window and talking and talking and talking. Rain does remind us of past so much. When mum tells us about the events took place when we were away, we listen with full concentration. She is such a good storyteller that we don’t even remind her when she tells about things that she already told us over phone when we were away. This is one of those highlighted times I look forward to when I am at the village.
At night when dad’s back, he initiates another episode of storytelling about his patients… illustrating their happiness, sorrows, hopes and agony in our minds. It’s a beautiful thing. He always does that. Sometimes when I visit my dad while he is working at his hospital I have to wait while his patients tell me all about my dad’s heroism and philanthropy. This is one of those factors that contributed to turn my dad into my ‘Hero’. After coming back and freshening up when he is not too busy reading newspaper, we play Snake Ladder game while marching sound of rain and frog’s croaking glorifies the night.
So rainy days are not that bad afterall right?
Let me tell you about a cute little pink lump of flesh casted with most enchanting spell of all called ‘life’. It was 75th minute of my uninterrupted glance at this baby while all my thoughts concerning his predestined future reeled on in my head like a film. As I landed on reality runway, I felt his fingers clasped around my thumb, I saw his tiny feet kicking the air over hospital bed and his eyes blinking with surprise while last drop of tear streamed down to pillow leaving trace of salt on both sides of his face. He was not crying anymore. Only blinked. May be he was tired but I’m pretty sure he was shocked about one of those cruel jokes life had pulled off. Before his 75th hour on earth, the angel of death took his mother away a day after this Mother’s Day. Irony. I could not resist myself from kissing him. Then I could smell scent of purity and innocence. Knowledge that Rules of God can neither be bent nor be broken, shattered my heart into shredded pieces. I am useless uncle of this child mourning death of my cousin.
Only that day I was shuffling through the old photos I stored in my cloud account. I found myself giggling thinking the silly deeds we did to bully her husband and to haunt guests on her pre-wedding and wedding occasion. Seem like yesterday we were rowing boat to go fishing. She would catch most fishes and we could only hook crabs or broken tree branches. She made fun of us saying ‘Don’t worry; I cook delicious crab soup with branch stew’. She liked muting corny Deshi films and reciting humorous made-up lines that turned it much more entertaining. She was my indulger of many childhood wishes, she was my company in afternoon walks, and she was pickle in a tasteless day and story in an uneventful time. She was my charming big sis. One day I hope to tell this cute little lump of flesh all the stories about his amazing mother.
I picked him up cradled him in my arms. I started humming with heaviest heart. For now, he shall sleep. For now, he shall glide far away from this predestined tragedy of our accepted destiny.
See what this delusional angel just did! I had fallen for you even before sound of wings faded. Now I live on your love and he is about to come to his senses. That arrow is still pierced I’m injured of love as days pass it dense(s) and feeling intense(s). He will undo the wrong been done. It sounds so daft. Is it his bizarre guilty pleasure? Remember what this delusional angel just did? I bet he was having fun keeping intention well hid.
That night I dreamt of you and me in an American bar. My sleeves all folded showing a nasty scar. You were dancing with the crowd under the neon light looked irresistible with retro looking face. It was indie bar with pensive people needed no wild guess. I was just badass intruder drinking raw vodka sipped down my throat. It all shifted and instead I wished to be left with you leaning onto me saying ‘let it be’, breathing-in your hot breath mixed with lipstick scent, sweet fume of sweat conquering cheap perfume, felt breathless my lung an airless vacuum. I was intoxicated in faded vision. Woke up on my bed with your head lying on my chest, asked, was it just an aided mission? You said, remember what that delusional angel did? I bet he was having fun keeping intention well hid.
Other day, we were walking down French boulevard. Sunray reflected on blue bay, orange and wine, grapes from vine. Air filled with Mozart, papers with Salvador’s art I tried to be one of those men who prophesize with pen. Where love is a habit of romantic instinct you won me from goddess yet heaven felt closest. As the stars vanished, moon disappeared left an empty bottle of wine, and echo of love was all I heard while night stayed shushed just like the time before and time before that… you tanned under sun I drew a hat and said remember what that delusional angel did? I bet he was having fun keeping intention well hid.
Love, song, food… dance for good, it’s nothing but an adolescent addiction embedded in this shapeless fiction. The kinder we become the harsher we get you bet it’s our damn fate that we met before sunset. Deadliest turn to our small barn, they say ‘do you see you were never meant to be’. Destined to solitary confinement, failed voyage for love sends hardest resentment. If you seek the truth, it’s written on our trembling hearts and eager lips… the only lie: ‘We will never say goodbye’. Cause, remember what that delusional angel did? I bet he was having fun keeping intention well hid.
This story is about an enchanting buttercup girl of chubby cheeks who was wrecked inside, who is living in disbelief- too afraid to shout to the void believing that nothing good will ever come, who startles like a fawn and in that girl I see a caterpillar yet to evolve into a beautiful butterfly with the touch of love. As she’d say now, ‘You sound corny’. Yes love, I do.
She appeared like a dark silhouette on the landscape of blue; standing right on the line placed in between where sky meets ocean. All my attention invested in chasing after the trace of her emotion and pace of her feelings. There remained hopes, worries, dreams and dramas in the black space between us mingling and hanging in the air. For a moment I could see them, I could feel them and I could touch them as tangibles. Thoughts consumed my consciousness so I was unaware of wave crashing on coral bed or the captivating reflection of sky in the ocean. All I could see… was the promise we made to ride on waves, walk on sands and hike around the globe together with hands clasped tight till our spines bend, bones grow weak, hair turns grey to white and we return to dust of the ground; that promise levitated by the breath of the ocean glowed in the shape of the strongest hope. I knew right at that very moment that I was not a rider on vagabond wheels anymore rather a man of objectives.
I say your fear flows from the things you care for. For instance, I never consider anyone my best friends except for the members of my family. Let’s just say I call conventional best friends ‘better friends’. May be it’s the outcome of a realization or protective shield of expecting less. Anyway, so single off putting news about my family is destructive enough to turn my world upside down. I care for them. Fun fact, I fear spiders. That doesn’t mean I dearly care for them too! But she managed to climb a step above ‘better friend’. It was a sudden entrance and quick ascendance I had no control over. She was like a cute lost puppy with watery eyes and a naïve look; irresistible entity and my new source of fear. I felt it my responsibility to comfort her with my verses:
‘If sun can’t miss a morning kissing you,
if stars can’t twinkle without winking you,
who am I other than the king of my sandcastle
to ignore the grace of you?
You are all the layers of my cloud9,
Core in the heart of blissful shine and
I am that king of the sandcastle
still waiting for you to be mine’
And some meaningless poems such as this. But before reading it you need to know few things. She always complain that ants always find pleasure in biting her, we both use the word ‘enchanting’ so many times, she loves to travel the world as do i, most of the time when she’s unable to answer anything she sings ‘Aiii don’t know’ with different tunes as if it’s a song. Now you are good to go and read this weird thing:
You are my sugar and I’m your ant
Let’s sing it out loud…sing it like a band
What if they hear…what if they do?
Only singing won’t do, let’s dance too
Your voice is amazing but my voice is a killer
Together we sing a weird Floorfiller
We look better than Ferdinand better than Isabella
Let’s watch Kung fu panda and share a Nutella
I crave for your love and my love’s not fickle
As your ‘tunes’ make me smile like a continuous tickle
So I sing-
“I’ll be flicking stones at your window I’ll be waiting outside ’til you’re ready to go Won’t you come down? Come away with me Just think of all the places we could be I’ll be waiting, waiting on a brand new day Waiting on a brand new day”
You are charming, appealing, dazzling, and ravishing
Looks like you are the one summing up ‘enchanting’
I’m wandererI’m drifter i’m a stone always rolling
Bewildering, why’d you love such vagabond being!
Don’t sing ‘Aiii don’t knooow’ cause it’s hauntingly beautiful
Making me prisoner of your love dungeon and
If I try to pick the lock I’m only a fool.
And she’d return the favor with impressive blows like sending goodnight audio notes with kisses, playing me her guitar or singing me my most favorite song Cannonball with her out of sync hauntingly beautiful voice. My ears craved for it so many times that her version outnumbered original Damien Rice’s in my most played list within days. Still I crave for more:
‘Still a little bit of your taste in my mouth
Still a little bit of you laced with my doubt
Still a little hard to say what’s going on
Still a little bit of your ghost, your witness
Still a little bit of your face I haven’t kissed
You step a little closer each day
That I can’t say what’s going on
Stones taught me to fly
Love ‒ it taught me to lie
Life ‒ it taught me to die
So it’s not hard to fall
She is someone who can make time run faster than fastest. She is someone who can tame your crazy heart after a restless day. She is someone who intentionally fools herself to say those three magical words to you. She is someone for whom you won’t mind leaving your tongue tied over those three words forever. She is someone who can nurture your manhood by letting you help her out some insecure state that she herself able to get rid of. She is someone every man desires to have and every woman desires to be. Idle time without her feels like the ‘cruciatus curse’ from harry potter. If that flawed moon caused writers write thousand poems; I think even millions will fall short when I’m praising her.
But despite the strength of these words, despite the force with which she’s pulling me toward her; I hear the haunting whisper: ‘Sugar sack on back, ocean at my feet… step? step Step!’ And it might be as it is anticipated. This story was about an enchanting buttercup girl of chubby cheek.s.. I will ever want to remember.