Love is a metaphor.
As the dusk melts into an inverted kaleidoscope,
the birds outside my window twitter lullabies like Mozart's symphonies!
A canopy of fragile words audaciously perforate the crevices of my mind.
And music swirls up in the air,
as the carvan plays ---
" Phir le aaya dil majboor kya keeje
Raas na aaya rehna door kya keeje
Dil keh raha hai usse mukammal kar bhi aao
Woh jo adhuri si baat baki hai...."
I read hundred metaphors of pain in Arijit's mellifluous voice.
On a day like this my heart pumps out alphabets.
Poetry sprouts out from the hollows of my collarbone.
So, I tentatively grip on my pen and write a love poem , in memoies of you( because the truth can only be told in metaphors).
" You resembled my favorite passages
from all the books I loved.
So, I memorized you like
You were the map to my home.
Your heartbeats were music,
Springtime acoustics to the
empty pavements of my heart that
listens to dry rustling leaves now.
Your smile looked like a decorated
churches on a Christmas eve.
The kind where dreamers like me
get lost in between unfathomable
You were like an azure breeze
on a July tuesday morning
in my mystical hurricane,