Your Silence

Conversations were so soothing and so easy with you,

even the arguments were sheer delight.

But then you passed silence into the late night cold breeze and I would answer it with a perfect brown lipstick stain on the white cold breeze.

An untrammelled silence amplified like the storm between our telephonic gazes.    

Conversations with you were solace.   

Conversations with you were antidote.      Conversations were so easy with you but the past tense of words, stabs my heart, bite my soul like that of a scorpion and stitches my tongue. 

Distances between us are unfathomable. We were always distanced by miles but the telephonic meetings kept us united. 

Alas! It doesn't exist anymore.

The same distance and silence has turned into torment over time, now they lacerate my heart in a numb hum.

Silence echoes in my mind in the cold moonlight night and I interlace the moonlight gleam into silent unsend messages for you. 

How could you be so distant?

How could you be so silent? 

This mind often runs to you. 

The fragrance of your presence still lingers into the pavement of my mind and encapsulates my dreams and I hide those dreams in the chamber of my uneasy heart and remember you every now and then. 

I wonder if you see me in your dreams anymore? I wonder if you still bear me in your crystal chalice heart? 

 

The kurta i wear has a pocket upon my bosom, in that pocket I've kept you safe, Wherever i go you're with me.

I want to tell you about the new people

I meet, share the reviews of drama I watch, tell you the interpretation of poems I read, how does it feels, every time as I walk by the flowers,

how I look at the moon and remember our silly late night conversations,

how I crave to share everything about me with you and only you,

But all these cravings and desires are collapsed and murdered,

They give their breath away.

I wonder if you crave me too? 

I wonder how you're doing these days?

This silence is rising like a cold wave and the distance between us is like the unending ocean.

It's static, standstill even on stormy nights, But deep down it roars, it cries.

I stand by the window with my eyes closed trying to catch a glimpse of yours and embrace you in my arms but I can't see you. I can't feel you, it's all empty and this emptiness makes me discontented.

Truly Keats has said that touch has a memory. Yes it has, the absence of your touch makes my mind scream and my heart bleed.

This heart had been a nomadic wanderer and you're it's home.

This is my happiness and complaint too!

Your silence echoes in those ignored unheard messages and they collapse with my own self and give their breath away. Alas! your silence is your answer; and your silence is my affliction, my pain, my sorrow, my grief, my destruction.

-Rifat