Note: My poetic tribute to the passionate, all-consuming love between the two star-crossed lovers in Yash Chopra’s blockbuster romance Silsila, which had put the silver screen on fire in the early 1980’s.
Betwixt the twists and turns of life’s uncertain miles
The pastures of love had tempted with a painterly vision.
‘Love’, the oft-committed, dazzling sin testifying in its fullness,
‘Love’, the beguiling light, irresistible, blinding,
One that soon engulfs in its maddening darkness.
The scent of their silken touch, the frantic movements of pleasure
In their entwined bodies, unraveling, squirting, unabashed,
Out of their neatly packed matrimonial boxes, to whisper
The esoteric lyrics of a seductive, silken reunion that lingers,
Tears to shreds, burns to ashes the salt and pepper of domestic bliss.
A pair of star-crossed lovers, seeking a pound of solace in
The lyrical ferocity of their swan songs.
The mad refrain of the desperate artist lover,
Sucking the moonbeam of her jingling bangles,
Nibbling on the wafting fragrance of his paramour’s body,
A scorching story of the boundless seduction of old flames
While estranging domestic ties, and the sad, silent tears
Of a demure, resilient bride, waiting to reclaim him,
Sowing his seed of a once vowed proximity.
And she, on her turn, carrying those lovelorn songs still
In her bone and sinew and blood, pan-seared in the surging lust
And love, melting, like the old, familiar salt in his luscious wants.
Her other man, bonded in vows of a holy matrimony waited,
For he too knew, the smell of her lover would wane away
From her chiffon drape, in the inevitable downhill climb,
The destiny of this perfume-soaked, transient saga of love.
‘Love’, the salt that perhaps had stung in their lips still
Would strive to settle in its familiar homely mooring,
From where there would be no leading astray, after all.
Lopa Banerjee. February 8, 2017