How would I know such people exist in this city?
People who breathe in dreams and breath out poetries
In this blurry metropolis, I never found anyone like them before
And I must pen down some verses that may possibly let you follow the tunnel of their hearts.
Little did they know, it takes just one conversation and I’m far away from all the insanities of the world and its suffocating fumes.
Sometimes, they are unreadable, some dive deep into petrichor.
Some keep mountains buried under their skin.
Some are silent observers, some want to be birds and fly far away from home.
Behind this urban chaos, they decipher flower language
Find solace in profoundly empty solitude
I wonder, do we waste so much of our time?
Time is deceiving us
and we must hurry
As long as art is there, our heart cannot be torn
Every heartache that gnaws at our hearts
must be healed by distant stars and our souls must be purified by perfumes of mountain trees.
Making fountains out of rock, we must sing Mohiner Ghoraguli til next sunset, as loud as we can!
Or we’d get drunk on wine, poetry, virtue, whatever like Baudelaire murmured.
A little indie pop song in our heads, we will ride forever on our two wheelers
To a strange dessert where all of our alter-ego await us
Coming back home, we will talk endlessly about our lucid dreams
Maybe, all those theories about dream interpretation are hoax.
How celestial it would be, if all of us turn into old books, violin, french cinema or love letters!
What if that portrait of Salvador Dali adds up climax to our story?
What if we invite black mirrors in our innocent lives and become immortal?
Will we sing Hymn of Love once more?
or toast to life, anymore?
We’ll discuss on a cup of tea.
Riphat November 20, 2021
I love us so much?? Take love