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Shreya Lahiri

Drama Romance


4.7  

Shreya Lahiri

Drama Romance


Autumn Waters

Autumn Waters

2 mins 233 2 mins 233

I started writing all my thoughts until the words drenched the paper,

And left me benighted in that lonesome left corner of that jingling cafeteria,

The words slowly caressed its face in my eyepiece,

And traced my memories as souvenirs in its dilapidated walls,

The plaster was scraping out and the platform lost its mobility,

And so often there were rustic metaphors on the floor,

And I had to sweep them,

There was my evaporated love,

Now precipitated in some brook,

Dwindling me down,

But now I am levitating myself to be whole,

Like the moon,

Though I know the moon unveils half the beauty of the sun,

And that each night it rests its head on its shoulder,

Afraid to be alone in the lanternless nights,

But that’s just this shade of care,

Which help the voyagers navigate and reach their stars,

I trace the margins on the world map hanging on a cemented wall,

And as I trace from down to up,


 A flush of seasons cast whispers in my fingertip,

I feel warm, cosy and then start to melt before the snow,

And bloom before the blossoms,

And finally, break like the frost,

But as I revert back to the present,

Tears of nervous platitude run down my cheeks,

As a flashback of winter bonfires and stolen kisses,

Start scarping off the wall,

I recalled how he stayed in the love in which I fell,

And how each string of my past was being plucked with no tune,

As they laid exhausted under the cup of coffee which I brewed,

Past can fade but with illusion to rest its head on,

Cause you see the universe is paired up,

And my eyes are coated with illusions which I savour,

As reality is a nest of truth bitter under my concealed perceptions,

But I don’t deny or avoid reality,

I just keep it at the rim of my cup,

And sip it when the heat drives me crazy,

Therefore the floor of my cup at the end levitates with a bit of coffee,

Left thoughtfully for my past and the reality to dive into,

And nurture oneself,

For I crept under the visages of both the obligations,

And found AUTUMN,

Which is ultimately born to fall,

And I call this beauty,

Which the eyepiece of a person fail to reflect,

For it is lying under layers of emotions too intimate to suspect.


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