Of Ruinous Poesy and Palpable Morning Landscapes

It has been a long time that I wrote to you, the deeper crevices of the lettered piston did not sit heavy on my breast across the Sunday morning landscapes. I chose to flee, I wrote to rise, ride, camouflage my star-studded, half-burnt coiled lifelike image into petals that could be gifted to you. My ruinous poesy and palpable morning landscapes thus spoke to you, in dreams, in distant cacophonies of the city, as you sipped the last few droplets of morning love and me.
It has really been a long time that I wrote for you, only for you, stargazing for hours at the dissipating defiance of what you called ‘love’. I churned out the madness from the scarlet scratches of the days when we met and when we left. The Sunday mornings thus remain an ecstasy, in having and not having what it meant to be loved. What remained was a food for thought, a thought that spoke in benign kindness, in looking at things that existed beyond the realm of the fragrant lettering folds, beyond the lavender-laced mornings that expanded in the city blues.
This Sunday also, at Sunday Talks, we present a bouquet of poems, reflections and Sunday feature and meanderings of the mind. What can be better than these fine ramblings, words that are printed on whitened sheets, and words that still remain to be told.
Send in your write-ups to Sreetanwi at Sunday Talks, Mail to sreesup@gmail.com / techtouchtalk@gmail.com
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Sreetanwi Chakraborty
ফেসবুক দিয়ে আপনার মন্তব্য করুন
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