An Ode to Hands held

A Poem by Subham Chatterjee

An Ode to Hands held . © ACCENTUATION 2011

by Subham Chatterjee on Wednesday, August 3, 2011 at 11:17pm

*** An Ode to Hands Held ***

Hither and thither I have heard somewhere,

That love comes like a thief

To all those quizzical, overwhelming hearts, lacerated, silently put to ease.

Like the whistle of the Engine perturbing the top-most leaf,

At the single nearest qualm of breathe,

At the sleepiest gush of the warm summer breeze.

Oh, I have known love,

Standing beside the river Damodar, holding my cousin’s hand tight,

Or as I stood on the edge of the railway station with my father to my right,

Touching the trembling hot rails of the coming evening mail train,

That small me, long understood love,

Before I could spell “Love, us and the autumn rain!”

Oh, I have felt love again, when my cousin’s hold loosened,

Like the abandoned brick-kilns I wondered till end,

She with someone else, growing too tolerant of me as I miss

Her shouting and calling me back, though it’s not the only time that

I had felt love, vying to catch a river fish,

For I have felt love once more,

When my busy dad had ignored me and gifted mom a kiss !

I have felt love, at the stroke of my first paint brush,

I have felt love, at the rhyme of words at my first held crush,

I have felt love in games played of togetherness �" amidst whispers and cries,

Or running away from my food,

As my chasing mom cuddle me up with her heavy smiling sighs.

Or at night when we laid on empty tramlines together…

Times when we ran across streets to collect many a bird’s colorful tail feather!

And as we grow, innumerable faces cast in the old same mold

Silently urges you to betray your love and to do as you are told.

A thousand faceless voices scream in that old same tone

Urging you to suppress the poem of your very own.

And its then I start to pen my life �"

Within four walls of my existence

Inked line after line with small naive hopes in my head.

Perhaps I knew it would all soon change �"

Like wet chalk on slippery slate,

But at least with time to figure, I knew

That the author was me , and not just fate .

With hundreds of people coming or going or running away,

I had returned to find me back, come what may,

In cities and towns, beside the sea

In mountains, in crowds at distant terrain

Returning to watch and gather from the windows of some passing mail train.

With time but just numbers with meanings attached to them,

Where battered unkempt handful of dreams do lie in my name

Shifting in line like the desert sand, caught in an hour-glass

The only thing constant were the night sky stars,

But not my route, not my once trodden, path of fresh grass.

Still, for love, I know it’s not perchance�"

Unlike painted silk in a hanging tapestry,

For though I realized how easily quick-sandesque is reality,

Then through, with you came the happy moments such�"

All I was though, all I was, was lost daylong in your assured touch.

Whilst amidst sweet nothings and the sour delights,

The tinted glass in panes would reflect and patronize

As we re-write love in our youth of fast disappearing choices�"

Slowly caressing you with my eyes,

And then sing out aloud the chasm in our mind,

Of the dreams left behind, of our togetherness through reprise!

Not you and me, but the together us lets cross the line�"

And run down songs for a new tomorrow,

Marooned in an island of faith, alive just we

Where rules of others we needn’t borrow.

Our loving love, our endless fight �"

Our small bend in the road, and again being back in sight.

The tale at large of how we survived,

Two lonely figures, late at night…

As we saw lights of scattered houses ,

Homes we knew that we had arrived.

I wish we had stayed longer together, for love, I know when it’s gone�"

I had no wishes left, just a bitter strife,

With the treasure of the winter sun gone�"

“ Not death” , all said, “ It’s but the circle of summing up of one’s life!”

They say love goes like a thief,

From most hearts when reality bites with jagged teeth,

At a sleepy summer breeze

Or perhaps at the single nearest qualm of one’s own breathe.

Without her, the stony wet footpath walked, sleepiness stalked

Through moonlit-drenched plastic,

The heart went putter and patter, while the reverie mind went nostalgic.

With lacerated illusions that bled through my vein,

Dreading the moment when reality would bite again�"

And so I had cried till my eyes stood still,

Somehow I thought perhaps,

If love is at the core of us,

We can add love to any misery we feel.

So, I had found my new love,

Amidst the waters of the river Damodar, holding her soft hands tight�"

Or as she stood on the edge of the railway line with me by her side,

She touching the trembling hot rails

Of that incoming old evening mail train �"

She could just smile and say ‘Dad’ ,

Long before she could go on to spell

“Mom we miss you, at this lovely autumn rain!”

© 2011 Subham Chatterjee

Author's Note

awaiting sincere reviews :)

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Lily Mae

Love is such a massive emotion..it involves the mind, body, and spirit.. So how do we ever fully understand what it can be...what it can do? Love has joy and yet sometimes covets sweet sorrows.. I think you did an excellent job here sharing what love is or is not for you.. Experiencing the loss of a loved one is the worst pain ever..xx