January 24

One day, years from now, when my daughter is old enough to have survived her first terrible encounter with Love, I’ll tell her a story. I’ll walk into her room, to a floor scattered with clothes and pearls and heartbreak. I’ll gently stroke her head, and push away the strands stuck to her salty cheeks, and look into the numbness swimming in her eyes. I’ll tell her about you. I’ll tell her that you weren’t just the guy who scored the highest grades or got selected in every team; you weren’t just the most popular or admired one. You were also polite, and kind, and empathetic. You held the door open for me; you walked slightly ahead so that the crowd wouldn’t come in my way; you took my trembling hand in yours while crossing the road. I’ll tell her that my first time wasn’t scary and rushed, and that you made sure it was magic painted in silence, and friendship dipped in passion; so that she’ll know how she deserves to be treated, because sweetheart, respect does have a face. I’ll tell her of how a gentle touch can make even the fiercest walls come crashing down in melody; of how the night was too fleeting for me to continue melting under the moonlight; of how happy you made me; of how I didn’t want it all to end. But it did, like all great things do. And I’ll tell her it’s okay. Because you know what? Some tales are so beautiful they belong in closed journals, crawling along the pages, in between the ribcages of two damaged hearts. She’ll finally understand that her first love won’t necessarily be the one she’s crazy about, but it also won’t be her last; that time will kiss and fade and heal the scars, and someday she’ll find her slow dance. As the comfort of this hope softly lulls her to a dim sleep, she might ask me to stay and reveal the ending, but I won’t. Because that adventure is only ours to remember; because that truth is just ours to share, and that promise I made is mine to keep, and I always will. In the Rubik’s Cube, in my poems, in me. 

The Maze of Stomach Knots

You're the unforgiving muscle spasm,

My toe hitting the foot of the bed,

The depths of my throat burning,

The itch in the corners of my tongue.

You're the morning's cold floor,

My left eye twitching in the afternoon,

The evening's soothing black tea,

The quiet night's loud wall clock.

You're the foam drowning in the cup,

My dinner looking cold and neglected,

The dawn's fitful lamp battle,

The colours of half-sleepy patterns.

You're the ripped band-aid in the drawer,

My moody playlist in traffic fights,

The lipstick stain on the bathroom mirror,

The red dress I don't like anymore.

You’re the scrapbook painted with glitter,

My high school’s wrinkly uniform,

The whispers of the deserted hallway,

The shiver beneath the winter blanket.

- Sayantani Sarkar.

Fariyaad

Galiyon se tere guzarte hai,

Jab ki raah ho meri, manzil nahi.

Junoon ke sawaalon ka kya jawaab de,

Mohabbat ho meri, zidd nahi.

Deewangi ne ye dastaan sunn ke poocha,

Tabaah kaise na hue iss intehaan mein?

Nazrein haske jhuki aur kaha,

Hum toh fanaa hoke abaad hue unke ishq mein.

Kahin toh hogi wo zameen,

Jiska aasmaan itna bereham nahi.

Dhoondne nikle hai uss mulk ko,

Jahaan mera naam tujhse judaa nahi.

Intezaar karenge tera uss mod pe,

Alfaaz iss kahaani ke saath le aana.

Jo mil na paaye mere sheher ka rasta,

Deewaro se mera wajood mitaake aana.

- Sayantani Sarkar. 

Wo Teri Dosti

Khule hawa pe tairte
Badalo si thi teri dosti,
Zameen se bandhe pairo ko
Pankh laga gayi teri dosti.

Bheed mein khoye huye haatho ko
Saath ka saath dila gayi teri dosti,
Thehri hui ghazal ki khamoshi par
Alfaaz saja gayi teri dosti.

Bikhre se khaali aasmaan mein
Taare gina gayi teri dosti,
Kore se saade kaaghazo par
Ghazal bhar gayi teri dosti.

Yun hi sanng haste-chalte
Yaad aakar rula gayi teri dosti,
Anjaane palo mein tujhpe marke
Jeena sikha gayi teri dosti.

- Sayantani Sarkar.

To Paris, My Love!

Let’s pack our bags

And run far away,

Away from the noise,

Never to look back again.

To the land where love lives,

To the city where hearts wander,

To the lanes where artists grow,

To the corners of dancing rainbows.

Let’s sit at a roadside café,

And watch stories pass by,

Till our cups are filled with ink,

Till the sun collides with the stars.

Let’s touch the droplets

That taste like romance,

Let’s watch the fairy lights

Embrace the black night.

Let’s trace the map

To the lost bookstore,

Let’s find among the rusty yellow pages,

The sound of writers witty and unknown.

Let’s run away;

With lips full of promises,

And a journal of empty pages,

To paint a canvas in eternity,

To paint a sonnet of you and me. 

- Sayantani Sarkar.

Aphrodisiac

She's thinking of you tonight,
With your gaze on her,
And her stomach in knots,
Clawing at the cold floor.

She's thinking of you tonight,
Camouflaging the wine in her eyes,
Palms stained by the rusty railing,
Wishing you'd catch her fall.

She's thinking of you tonight,
Her mascara quivering,
Starving to make her
Scars perfect for you.

She's thinking of you tonight,
Her restless fingers nudging one another,
The needles of her soundless voice
Screaming at the empty sky.

She's thinking of you tonight,
As you remain oblivious,
While the hurricane you gifted
Stirs and shakes and shatters her cage.

She's thinking of you tonight,
Through the battles she fights
To stop herself from begging
You to stay.

She's thinking of you tonight,
Amidst the stolen seconds,
Along the tangent between
Her breaths and the blur.

She's thinking of you tonight,
On the road faded with noise,
As the horizon swallows her song,
Her last whisper being your name.


- Sayantani Sarkar.

The Fall

The sun is golden again today,
Like that blazing Friday afternoon,
When the horizon refused to part,
Perched below the soft hues.

The sun is golden again today,
Like when the wrinkled silk
Whispered stories from our Pensieve,
Bellowing across the cobbled lanes.

The sun is golden again today,
Like your coffee turning cold
Against the sleeping hammock,
Counting the droplets of the clock.

The sun is golden again today,
As I sit here waiting,
For a kinder storm
To bring back the Autumn leaves.


- Sayantani Sarkar.