Sunday, October 11, 2009

Memoirs of My Missing Muses

I

Just a hurried glance or two,
As she waited in that shed
Searching for some bus or cab,
As I watched her through that rain –
Painted as by learned hand:
Gentle strokes of sparkling joy;
Fading at last in some crowd,
Jostling for that absent inch.

II

A puzzling pause is all we had
While we crossed the dim-lit lane
And briefly gazed as strangers would:
Sharing by some unknown tryst
Moments no one else can have –
A sharpened look that also said
How sadly tired she must be.
And then the fadeout into stairs
Which I know I shall not climb
But outside still, I linger will
For those sharpened hazel eyes
Who I know can mesmerise.

III

I caught her lovely fragrance once
And as I turned I only found
In that crowded market-place
A fairy clad in perfect white
Shining bright with gentle grace.
Its not often that you feel
In your soul that sense of peace
That she brought me there and then
In that crowded market-place
Ringing loud with voices hoarse.
And as she glided out of sight
In that searing midday haze
I just felt as though I had
Offered then my deepest prayers
Fragrant with my morning bath.

IV

You can call me what you will,
But only those who know can tell
The charm of bare and marble hands
Which by casting spells on you
Place you in some soothing trance,
Lifting burdened souls at once
Into a realm of languid ease
Kissed with springtime southern breeze.

So I watched her bound in spell
As she sat and took her notes
In that forlorn corner seat
Where my gaze was always fixed.


V

I met her in that twilight air
When those hues of dwindling day
Dance in western skies at once
As like nature’s Holi fair
And saw her weaving sunshine through
Flowing locks of silken hair
As they caught my heart and tossed
In some rill my fears of loss
And then flew me who knows how
In that land of melting hues
Where with lilting dulcet tunes
Love and life and laughter rules.

Still in days twilight blues
Yearning for those dulcet tunes
All those moments pass me by
As through music of my sighs
She keeps flashing by and by
Weaving sunshine through her hair
In that fateful twilight air.


I can go on longer still
Noting slightest glances all
Which like jingling festive bells
Made my heart then prance and leap
Throbbing with that unique thrill
Beauty’s bliss can make you feel.

So in days of barren gloom
They all flow and as in dream
Light up corners of my room
With that matchless loveliness
Which men keep on yearning for
As they knock on heaven’s door.

5 comments:

Sui Generis said...

Arey waah! good to see it abs....the metamorphosis is interesting...despite the muses u did quite well :)

Sumana said...

Liked ur post...d poem has an Yeatsian feeling....some of the images r brilliant nd weave a magic.

Robert said...

my favourite. another best piece. hopelessly smitten, aint you? in the current world, people hardly go beyond desire for the flesh and desire for possession. you are a rare romantic species.

Robert said...

Yes,I can see Joyce now.Where are you nowadays?Have you shifted to another blog or do you just not write?I liked discovering Joyce though.Now I'm a bit more "literate"

Abin Chakraborty said...

Thanks for the comments again.my apologies for this barren spell. but after every winter there's spring.so I promise you 4 new ones!one every day from today.