The Birdsong

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Image source: Pixgood.com

 

Flapping, fluttering wings, the birds twitter, chirp
The murmur of their love songs–close, afar.
The twilight sings as they anchor their kisses,
Unspoken words deepen, darken,
In the moist mouth of the night.

Together, they dig into the rough flesh of the night.
In the deep blue of its waves,
They break and sink, hunting down
The deep, dark hours, falling, frenzied.

The night nurtures their songs in the wind
As they swirl and twirl, burning, stroking, kissing,
Up above the river beds, the petals
Of the dawn unfold.

They squat, unzip, lying
In surrender to the slender,
Definitive daylight. The light, drunken, gleeful
Carves the braids and pleats, the saffron
And milk, the contours of our unwritten verses.

In the virgin dream of the morn, they swim
Tender, green, floating in the morning’s womb
Like unnamed embryos. The light of words
Christen them, drop by drop, glittering, looming.

Drop by drop, our verses rain and dance, rekindle flame.
We melt together in our steep, aimless flight.
Our kisses sprout from the edge of the night,
Bleeding, entwined, yet never letting go.

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The Drunken Lovers’ Song

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Image source: Lopa Banerjee

For all those short wintry days, sheathed under

The soft blanket of the setting sun, they met,

Under the misty halo of twilight.

Their hands clasped, their tongues tied

Under the spell of the faint, blinkings rays

Of the hibernated sun,

Zipped by the pale, urgent moonlight.

They met, they wandered, withered with the moon,

In their own planet, love, the only language of the living.

 

The sky, a euphoria of lofty colors

Threw sparks upon their faces.

They looked up, and down,

Coiled in each other’s faces, sitting

Rapt beside a drunken, luscious river,

Counting baby faces in the translucent water bodies.

The faces, playful, indolent, unbound, never knowing

The toxins, foul smells, the ground zero of the city.

They laugh, rolling, rippling, flowing,

Tiny petals of music, poetry and love,

Fingers kissing dewdrops, evolving

Into a saga of childhood love,

Twinkling dim, blinking out, withering away.

In a tangle of two souls, spread out

Like a flowered skirt, the drunken lovers

Surrendered their lavender blossoms.

The stale night whispered, venom sprung

Out of the earth’s crust.

And while the green pastures waxed and waned

With the pale, cold moon,

Deadly ghosts spitting misery, trampled over

Their flesh, bones and honeyed dreams.

The drunken lovers and the moon, consumed in embrace

Quivered, fluttered wings  beneath the deadening cacophony.

The river called them out in ripples

And the unwavering smell of love.

And they gripped, grouched in the dark planet,

Love, the only language of the living.

(C) Lopa Banerjee. October 23, 2014