From The Quill of Suranya

 "I would never love someone like I love you." I promised in full sincerity.  To the first I ever loved. In letters, journals and poetry  Pouring my heart out in words  For that was the only way I knew  To shower love. But what value would words have  To the deaf ears of materialism?  I was blamed for not being like  The rest of them. (What does that even mean?)  And there I stood. Abandoned. "I would never love someone like I love you."  I said to the second chance.  In emails, messages and raw emotion  Often disguised as crude jokes.  I was afraid to be vulnerable.  This time, there was no goodbye.  Ghosted by humans and memories of the past.  I was shattered. "I would never love again..." I looked at you and lied. You weren't my first of anything.  Nor special like that. Not one who would reassure, "I am not like them." How would I know? I pushed you away because  I was scared of hurting myself;...

 Freshly peeled potatoes Dipped in water in a discarded steel bowl  Smell of new pastel colours on paper  Petrichor of Kalbaisakhi  Shiuli, Bel, Jui of seasons  First aroma of Ilish Khichuri  That one plastic lay with dust  Perched in a corner, nobody dares to open God knows what lies inside.  Sound of the whirling fan  Smell of old books and dust  Alpona and Dhunuchi of Pujo  Saree from your mother. Morning conch shell Summer Kulfiwalas  That creaking door you dare not close  All that feels like home. Sometimes missed or frowned at  But never left behind  In the lanes of nostalgia  Every time you travel back  Through stories of childhood. © Suranya

 Do you remember the first time on the couch, I had my arms around you like I always did.  And you hid your face from the horror movie In the protection of my chest,  I laughed at your reaction  Lifting your head up by the chin.  Our noses touched, and then we hesitated.  The curiosity growing in us  To know, explore and taste.  We gave in to the youth's call. Our lips touched for the first time.  Do you remember I asked  Are you sure? You said there is no turning back from this point On other days, I would debate it,  Today, all I could do was nod  And give in to lust  Promising myself it was love  When it wasn't  Perhaps to make me feel better  When I saw it in your eyes. ~ Suranya

Does spring remind you  Of rejuvenation and rebirth? To me, spring is nostalgia.  Of childhood days and observations  Of whirling fans in examination halls The stress of all-nighters  The loadshedding spent telling and hearing stories. The first blooms of Krishnachura  Painting the concrete bright red. Spring reminds me of sunshine days. The first saree, clad in yellow.  The first date by a lake  The first kiss of what love should have been.  Does spring remind you of someone? You love and celebrate? It reminds me of the me I lost, loved and treasured. The innocence of youth  The trauma of heartbreak. Spring reminds me of where I was  And where I belong In better spring memories. ~ Suranya

Remember that girl who boards the same bus at the same stop at the same time daily? You know her face but not what she does. So you weave a story around her. That book she likes, the jacket she wears, the bag she carries in the commute or how she lip-syncs to music on her earphones. You read about girls like her. Remember that woman who begs on the street? What is her story? Is she poor or abandoned? Betrayed by her own? In your head, she has a family who refuses to look after her. She becomes that random character namelessly existing in the corner of your story. Remember how every missing piece of an unsolved puzzle in the world has conspiracy theories? How someone is not dead because we found no body. How someone spotted an unknown creature in a desert. Theories become our closure stories to things we can't answer with science yet. Remember that book where you pictured a rebellion? The author had penned a slogan or purpose. Made up stories to highlight atrocities. Little did he k...

 Sometimes life feels like  Someone who can't swim  Being thrown into a vast ocean  Gasping for breath  Hoping to stay afloat  While the salty water accumulates  In the lung. And then come people.  Who are the one boat you see while drowning  And you wave frantically at it  In a last bid to survive  Hoping to be seen and heard.  The one boat that throws a life jacket at you  And pulls you up and safe  On to the shore. You saved me. I whisper. But you cannot hear it. Gratitude turns into a slow-burning sensation.  Of unravelling the mystery that surrounds you.. The saviour, the Messiah, the Beloved. It was time for the boat to sail again  And I find myself being scared of the ocean; The storm that engulfs and eats ships Disturbs me to the core. But you seem to have your eyes set On the horizon, far beyond me  Your dreams to stay afloat  Surpasses my phobia of drowning. So you leave with a promise...

 The sun sets in His part of the world.  It rises in hers.  In between,  The Sun travels the distance  Between them. © Suranya