fourteen years and a half.

my rhythm,

fourteen years and a half has passed
yet somewhere your beat
still resonates,
for i remain not much
but a collection of stories
bound in a novel of erased memories.

 

you echo.

i remember neither the sound of your laughter,
nor the way you whispered my name.

or how ever our air bent to collect your voice
and deliver, the cherished baritone
of your lips,
unscathed and treasured
within my years

for i like a fool, failed to revere words,
whose absence today
haunts me.

 

you pulsate.

we remain truly torn
yet i find myself tangled in these strings,
bearing the throb of your veins
like a drum, rolling upon my skin,

and i shiver for those million whips
osculate the blood within,
and they rise
to match your tempo.

 

you reverberate.

an autumn wind
beats against barren branches
whence no leaves dance to,
and I am engulfed by
every drop of water
that floods the floors with faces,
albeit faceless.

a remnant of facade within the
fresh rusted leaves,
vanquished
underneath the rugged roots.

 

you recur.

your palette.
my canvas.
and your fingers,
that brushed my face
to our evenings,

are mere verses- that whisper through
my headphones today-

of our partings, as the sun set
and the dusk danced
to our farewells.

i weep tearless sorrows
when i look at crayons,
for i recall with warm recollection
how you sketched my smiles
-that the clock charcoaled-
and breathed life
through your fingertips,
while i massacred those irrelevant outlines
with both my hands.

you laughed

i hid my face in your neck.

my hair tickled your paints,
and you shaded me.

 

you resound.

every throb of time
is a cruel reminiscence of those hours
when the cold air wrapped
those murky mornings,
and you stood on our bridge
minutes before school.

your bones enfolded mine,
and the prosaic bricks
baked into auburn cobblestones.

those touches were scorched in my iris.

 

you resonate.

within the moonlit drizzle,
every thought of mine
is drenched with the fire
rekindled,
by the frosted memories
that cascade upon our
guileless childhood

and i raise my wrist
to the roaring showers,
letting the thunders
slip in my veins.

 

you replay.

fourteen years and a half has passed,
and today your phantom has
become the rhythm
my thoughts beat to.

 

your fallen.

 

••ari purkayastha

28 thoughts on “fourteen years and a half.

  1. I like your way with words, you use them well
    I’m reminded of music and a musician
    The words fell of my tongue like they were mine own
    It left me with a feeling that I knew you once
    A million years
    Don’t stop
    Be this quality…

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This is amazingly dark and sweet, and the harsh contrast is achingly familiar… a feeling as though you’ve fallen asleep on your lovers chest, and woken up alone, to reality.

    Liked by 1 person

        1. This poem is an old one.. But one of my most personal pieces. I was very nervous to share it. So yes, your words mean the world to me. Thank you for taking the time to read😊

          Like

          1. Ari– please know that I always love your work. I know a little bit about putting our most vulnerable selves out in public. If you are ever feeling uncertain or need to be reminded how amazing you are, don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I love your voice.

            Liked by 1 person

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