When books matter, and nothing else, When words matter, of a tempting tale... Stealthily reading a story Underneath my Chemistry book... I forget for a moment I am here or over the moon... The very smell of books resonates with my different facets of imagination with an array of diverse memories of olfactory experiences, I have accumulated over a period of time...The smell of old ones makes me ruminate about the people who might have read those books...turned those pages which make some of them crumpled from the edges, some even torn in the shape of a triangle. The new ones have some other weird tales to narrate..the hands they had passed through till they have reached the newly formed bibliophile... My initiation as a bibliophile started around the time when I was in the fifth grade...I dreamt of having a library of my own, I being the sole proprietor of it ....a sort of haven in a world of crude realism. I would turn the pages of a book with utmost delicacy and care...I have a strong distaste for folded and crushed pages...somehow they reflect the unbridled attention the reader paid to the book while devouring their pages. Books are to be savored and respected...they disperse the knowledge and creativity of the writer who has taken utmost pain and diligence in assembling his ideas in those pages. Books transport me to the world of the writer and his characters....a temporary suspension of realism; woven out of the grey matter of the genius. They goad me to think and envisage the story in my ever inquisitive and restive mind and create an interpretation of my own---very distinctive and self-contained. I would accumulate all the money gifted to me on various occasions and hop on to a book store to buy books with the unadulterated enthusiasm of a child when he gets hold of a new toy. It's utterly a cumbersome effort on the part of the person who has accompanied me to the book store, to take me out of that place...Later on, I often feel pity for that person and sometimes grateful as well that he or she has tolerated my insanity for that period of time. Books sustain me, satiate me and dispel an inner calmness of the mind for quite an impressionable length of time. To cut the long story short---- Mounds of books, strewn all around, Sitting in the middle of nowhere - The aperture of my eyes refuse to shut It's already twelve o'clock... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

Sitting by the waves in deep thought, He orchestrates innumerable plans... He is unbound, unchained and unperturbed. Mountains beckon him, Forests enchant him, Waves enrapture him, Nature awes and surprises him He is a loner in this swarming world. But ambitions delude his wanderer's mind, The long-awaited journey is still undermind. An unending path needs to be traversed Circumlocution of life and The amalgamation of varied thoughts. Snapshots of vivid images Of an old dream left undone. Realization is all that remains: Which necessitates perseverance And unflinching strength. With renewed vigor he stands up-- Up must he move Not let down by any restraints, Reasons and excuses His mind now knows. By Nandini Sengupta. @metaphors_of_life

Serpentine bylanes at loggerheads, Alluring you into an enigmatic journey. Red-oxide floors, shuttered windows, Tell a tale of bygone history. Clarion call of crows at daybreak, Sunshine filled barandas, Let's reminisce for old times' sake. Mouth watering phuchka, Fish fry and rasogolla . Honks of rickshaws during sleepy afternoon, Is no less than a boon. The first cup of brewing tea By roadside stall, makes you glee. Tagore's songs and Ray's bioscope, Will always beget unrestrained hope. Durga pujo sets the festive mood -- With spirited joy and lip-smacking food. Thakumar jhuli is now grandma's tales, Gamchas are fading away with the gale. Howrah Bridge and Victoria Memorial, Tranquil Gangar ghaat is truly pictorial. The tingling sound of the evanescent tram, No more load-shedding and telegram. Once rock addas are hardly to be seen, Old Calcutta is now Kolkata by all means. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

''O my Luve is like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June; O my Luve is like the melody That’s sweetly played in tune.'' -Robert Burns(1794) Love is inspirational and divine. Love conceives hope. It mends and repairs. It lifts us up. We feel transported to a different world altogether- where only two souls coexist.BUT......it can be overwhelming too, taking us to an abyss of infinite longing and hopelessness. Still, we fall in love only to get up again....as we know LOVE WILL FIND A WAY......Will it?? Love is spontaneous and eternal. It has been there through ages--life is created out of love. As they say, Love lies in the eyes of the beholder, the look bewitches two minds and they fall in love. It's magical---two souls are entwined into a single entity. There is desperation to the level of madness when one falls in love. They are inseparable and incomplete without each other......but sometimes, with time, it loses its initial aura and sheen. The innumerable promises tend to be forgotten with time. Does love cease to exist?? I am not here to deliver sermons on LOVE. It is unfathomable, undefinable, and beyond the reach of common human perception. It is so painful, yet liberating. Love moulds one's perspective of looking at life in general. The initial blurred vision of vanity metamorphoses into a clear humble existence. The wait for that special someone-the true love is never over, our heart aspires to meet the ONE. Is the wait worth it?? The answers to all my questions are.........Let's experience......they lie within US. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

Our story spans thousands of years for aeons we have loved, Your footprints lead to the threshold of my abode. As the dusty dunes sweep beneath my feet, I can sense you're coming Home. The melody of your flute spiraling through the storm, finds its end into my ears. The movement of your fingers along the bamboo reed as you endeavor to run them lest they emit a wrong note. I long to sit beside you along the doorstep, lost in the waves of the soulful music, wafting through the golden sands, of the enchanting desert. The wait is all I have This disquiet I must bear, For I know in my heart You are forever there. *A village maiden in a faraway desert land waits for her lover. She knows he would arrive soon. It's only a matter of time they would soon be together. (The second part of this poem will narrate the side of her lover.) By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of _life

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

The leaves fall in abandon in total mirth and subjugation, colliding with the topography of the uneven earth; for it knows within, it must fall- fall with the purpose of rising high with the wind, dancing its way to freedom, of finding new land, a place where its mustard and crippled edges will find some respite, its purpose well served. The lady in those red heels tossing her cares by the path, cobbled and uneven she nearly skips forth; those heels seem a bit pesky she disowns them at once, basking in her autumn she unlearns her lessons in bits and remnants- riding in her glory buzzing through the zephyr, humming her own sweet melody, laughing at her dim-witted perception of existence she knew so far- the autumn leaf lands at her feet and she lifts it up, with a steady intent look she beams in admiration and absolute love... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

Autumn dissolves into preachy winter...the fallen leaves have started accumulating themselves...Stunted feelings, residual talks, still left incomplete after a long evening... Of mountain trails, of winding roads of unknown terrain, of messy zones of pines, deodar and firs of butterflies, caterpillars and moths. Those stunted grass emanating half baked, half understood life those rocky paths ending nowhere echo mysteries and sing of sunrise... Mountains have their own tales, their own dreams and aspirations...they speak of love and loss, of beauty and scars, of madness and peace, of permanence and transcendence. Each rock reverberates with stories of that soul who might have taken a brief respite after a fatiguing walk down the hilly terrain. The fatigue is not so much of the form but the mind stirring in cups of fear fear of the unknown, of unresolved interior. The enigmatic peace, the daylight cheers half forgotten memoirs, streaks of tears must rest for a while now or get stuck in the wild forever... The coiling path of the taxi, loaded with hopes of the travelers, engaged in chit chats amongst themselves, wind up the road in anticipation. The snowflakes which had just started to welcome their journey ahead, sent a chill underneath their warmers. The trees are accustomed to its ways, the man driving the taxi might as well. But not the wayfarers. Explore they must, for that what life is dance to their way they must for that is how they bridled their joyful way to resilience. The impression of their feet on the lap of guileless snow the cold of the surprising rain made their countenance glow... The molding of nature into different forms, creatures reciprocating to them in all its glory, at times, puts me into utmost awe as if everything has always been there, nothing ever has changed. The voice within must echo its omnipresence!! (These are snippets of my half baked thoughts which gradually came to realization after a short trip to mountains- they are ever so mesmerizing, beyond words and description...) By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

As thou sprinkle the colors of thy love on my wandering essence: all over my inner and outer self, the warmth of thy closeness awaken my yearning spirit lost in searching thou in pettiness; the gaze of thy silent eyes see through that robe I boldly wear on my vulnerable frame, that which the world despise in me, thou behold with zest. How I failed to perceive the One who resides in me also beats in thy core. As your love sets me free from myself I feel assured coming back Home... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

"I closed my mouth and spoke to you in a hundred silent ways" ---Rumi I never knew I would write. But ever since I remember, I have always wanted to. I waited for the right words to emerge. When I could hold no longer, did it pour of its own and then inundated my pages in no time. I am at once in love, awe, and intimidated by words. If placed in a disorderly manner, words can ruin so much of you. If nurtured with love, it can move mountains. Words are mystical, powerful, and devouring. I write as a respite, a kind of escapade where rules dissolve, where art is pursued for its own sake and explanations become redundant-- Kublai Khan in a fit of frenzy, wavy tresses twirling in the air, ordered the stately pleasure dome to be built-- verses which would make you wander into a state of surrealism- a temporary suspension of reality, making you the master creator for the time being in this otherwise mortal world. The creative streak loses its sheen sometimes, rendering me helpless where I grapple for those syllables that once made my poetry rhythmic. Still, the words should flow, like the stream that fashions its journey through rocks and then merges with the ocean. At times it's muddy, while at times shining like a crystal... At times I feel why I write At times I question my might- The countless words dwindle in vain, are anchored in my heart The countless memories shared once, are all lost in the dust The nameless pain shared once, by the voice deep within When every moment feels worthwhile, As I believe in my dreams. Surging of waves, provoked by words The fire in the soul alighted with love The spasm of the earth beneath my feet The air that rustles the mind within All are but elements of Nature that create the divine aperture, My hand should wield those words forever forging through eternity soldering through nature, Falter I will, for err is human Like a stream, I must keep meandering ever... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

I embrace you with open arms in pain and laughter in joys and sorrows, as I falter in mapping the paths broad and narrow. With heavy feet, I tread teary eyes, I dream, with blank verse and onomatopoeia, I take count of my memorabilia. Happy days spent with happy people happy faces turning sour and I witnessed them all. Innocence trampled in unjust lanes played and rattled with I allowed it to fall and then allowed it to heal. A fool was I took time to learn the ways of life, never knew even love has its price I thought it was all bright. Writing forayed into my soul uncalled and unthought of, while I was knocking on the closed door, You paved a whole new road. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

The Unmanifested One Down within, my search began. for years on end... He was nowhere to be found. All my trials were in vain. I was determined to find him on faces, I tried to perceive him in traces. Through actions, I tried to owe him, In his mention, I tried to awe him. Definitions baffled me... Boundations misled me... It was somewhere between trust and mistrust, But I never got distracted. Then I closed my eyes and searched within-- My consciousness opened the window That was closed while exploring. He was there and nowhere Shapeless, formless, beyond any definitions Whereat last I got my realization... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life