Sandy tales (part 2)
- Nandini Sengupta
- Jan 23, 2022
- 1 min read
Updated: Apr 1, 2022
The sound of your anklets
caressing the heated sand,
The playful wind wiping
your tears before they
touch the rusty land,
bring them to me-
I feel them within
the crevices of my
harrowed palms.
I revive the same agony
that beseech you, my dear,
My flute makes no sound now
no tunes ever come out
of that empty reed,
my tired hands, incapable
of balance, incapable of
forging love out of it.
Those downcast eyes of yours,
dark and deep within
glimpse through your veil.
I see you in my dreams now
waiting every passing day
to start my journey to you:
the wait that finishes at dusk
on your part, my love
starts with dawn on mine,
Those years we traveled
together on this earth,
Those aeons we have loved,
will not end in vain-
your wait merges with my essence;
In our wait, we are One:
your heart where I reside,
that very heart is Mine forever...
*(The young man now lives in the city for work, away from his love. Every day, he counts when he will meet her. In their wait, they are together.)
By Nandini Sengupta
@metaphors_of_life
This is so beautifully written.
I could imagine myself standing in the desert, witnessing the back and forth between the two love drenched souls yearning for each other's presence. The fire ignited in their hearts burns brighter than the sun overhead. The opening lines of this piece were particularly striking, mixing the melodious chiming of his beloved's anklets with the caress of the heated sands—sands inflamed less by the beating sun, and more from the ever pervading tale of their love. Such a beautiful mix of emotions, imagery, and a yearning for love; all so beautiful put in words. In his wait, we can see a part of ourselves, and in his toil, maybe a fraction of our own suffering. A piece so enchanting, it…