Those little moon kissed petals of flower
I have still kept for you
Along the old book of poetry
Which you gave me on that day of orange sun
Which later turned to a storm
And we ran
Open below the sky
Into the world
And laughed.
Those hand made cards
Which still smell of chocolates and gifts
I have kept them too
In that secret chamber where no one have access
Except me
And the wind of Spring.
Those pages of unpublished poems
Thousand words of madness
Of smiles of tears of touches
Words that only heart can write
I know, they are the best words I ever wrote
Till it is taken up by moments
Fragments of magic in each broken letters
Tonight, I open them once again.
I would cross cities today, oceans and hills
The dew would soak me
The passing shower would drench me
I would not shiver in the cold
I walk with the wind now
Till I reach you
And see you
Once more, sleeping.
You would never come to know
The scent of rain in your room
As when you would be awake
The sun would have dried it all
Except that little wetness of touch
In your lips
Which was mine.
By Subhadip Majumdar
©2017 Literary Earth
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