That gifted book

That gifted book

That gifted book:

the one that I gifted you

on that fateful day-

the day we met for the first time,

when you stood by the bus stop

waiting for me, one last time.

In an indigo kurta and white pyjamas,

decked with a captivating smile,

your sombre eyes spoke

of matters kept in exile.

As years went by since we met

and seasons ran forth-

I remembered one fine day

the words I couldn't utter that May:

that book was written with care,

with silent prayers of love;

in time, you have touched those pages

which I held for long.

If it ever reminds you of me,

remember my dear-

You will meet me in my verses

which I wrote without fear.

As your fingers linger on those pages,

if you notice, I reside in their creases.

If you ever desire to inhale my presence,

bring the book close by

I will be there in the aroma of its pages.

The book might turn old,

its pages turning yellow and loose,

I will still meet you in pieces

if not in whole.

You might forget and keep the book

in a dark corner of your cupboard, 

and still find me while you search

in the dust adorning its fold.

If you ever want to part with it

the words, the memories,

it is saddled with,

do sell it at the old shop at

the corner of your street,

If ever it is sold and resold

and lands in my abode,

I will again keep it with love,

just the way I gifted it to you.

By Nandini Sengupta

@metaphors_of_life