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Fate Of Unrequited Love
By Chokita Paul
As if there are some in ways in which
I am not free:
When we separate after another bungled kiss
In my wildest of dreams,
Your name springs to my lips at moments
Of strange prayers I barely understand;
A vague resemblance of angels on church walls-
Serene and tragic.
As if my mundane curves and awkwardness
That make you want me a little less,
And a little less
Create a satisfactory buzz of mosquitoes
Near my ears in my insecure slumber.
As if the other girls
You are fond of sleeping with
Amputate the limbs of my writing-desk
Like a December storm-
When I get ready to feel the warmth
Of the glow in its flames,
The night wind blows on it.
As if your voice summons the foolish blood
Inside my heart, to spill itself out into my bosom,
When you call me for an exchange of
A few casual words.
As if your gestures become strings
To the harp of my nervous body-
A prelude to any short-term waltz,
When you stand close to me
To embarrass me with hope.
So, even if your first glance was
A farm of soot
Even if your nonchalance is
A tremor, the doctor does not have a pill for,
I shall confess, your unfathomable wreckage
Is freckled with stars
And I become worried about
Not seeing you again
For a long time.
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