Even If I Still Believed In.

I never knew emotions could have run so cold
I never could have thought so, yes, before it
But I was forced to go through it the last winter
A frosty experience of a long winter
Inflicted on a chilly night on that wily day
Inflicting a blow so heavy that it still rains
Pushing me to dark oblivion of darkened voids
Into a world of deafening heartless voids
Freezing polarity of emotions unilaterally
Freezing insularity of passions mutually
I still remember those numbing words
Words I still find hard to explain in words
Air was tearing into me, slashing me bare
Air that was frigid had come with a message
That life had taken a grey turn with no extremes
And my emotions had to stay put in those extremes
Even if I still tried to believe in my life a day before
Even if I still believed in the layered beauty of winter


©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/


Well, nothing historical like Roman Elegies in this journey,
But it still has a story that stretches back to the days,
When I used to love its amorphous sharpness.

White, or black, or pink, or yellow, colours adored me,
When you were on my lips, playing vivaciously,
Dipping in me with a tippy playfulness.

Today always waited for tomorrow, in jocular anticipation,
When it will be the time of the day of emancipation,
In unison of us, and your piquant acess.

Having you was always complete and the feeling was so intrinsic,
Penetrating deep, melting in my thoughts at the moment,
That I would have you before all caress.

Scalding or piercing, yes, at times you would intently act so,
But then you had become a tale so personified in my soul,
That I would always look beyond, inside me, for address.

Then suddenly, one day, you told me you had a revelation, for me,
That gone are the days when you used to be mutual with me,
And the piquant was to be bitter now with sullenness.

I didn’t accept that, and like a child’s virtue, I still don’t follow it,
For, what you felt to me, was basic to me, pure and pointed,
Yes, it soured initially, but never in absoluteness.

I know the story is yet to be told, I don’t know how, and when,
The piquant is still not bitter, though is bereft of touch now,
Missing that flavour of life dipped in your playfulness.

Colour Collage 2


©/IPR: Santosh Chaubey – https://santoshchaubey.wordpress.com/