Every night when my head touches the pillow
a stream of happiness races through me.
I stare at the ceiling for a while and your picture appears,
the same picture that I have been visualising for the many years we have been in love.
I have seen many pictures of yours, but the one you shared for the first time floats in my eyes as soon as I think of you- the one with the green shirt with your brows creased.
Is it my favourite picture of yours or the one I have stealthily seen thousand times?
I have tried many a time to decipher but all in vain- it is like picking a colour from the rainbow where all the seven colours merge to paint the wave.
Oh, there are a few others too,- the one in white kurta and the one in pink,and then the one in blue, all that are secured in the crevices of my heart forever.
But the ones that come with your sheepish grin-your pink lips, your rimless glasses on your nose and your wavy hair, keep me driven always, glued as two pieces of magnet.
I know not how many ages pass when I look at you thus,yet the fragrance is always as fresh as the new sun unfolds on a misty morning.
At night again, I spread them all as an artist spreads all his favourite colors on a palette and paints, bemused, lost in trance.
Night unfolds, slowly and gently, entangling me in its mysterious wake, and in the morning when my eyes open, I realise I have missed one more night coming closer to you.
The same anguish returns, the same turmoil torments, the same hope dwindles and the same frustration creeps in.
I am now a belle wandering in the forest with a dulcimer in hands waiting for her bethrothed moon.

Prasupta Roy