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Like stars, like comets orbiting above,
on the edge of methane and helium,
in the bliss of Jupiter’s Great Red Spot
or like fables from the past
dragging dreams, regaining consciousness,
his poetry appears unannounced, confusing me,
shamefully shading my cheeks in sanguine.
In a moment of reunion, just a smile away,
I educe (how couldn’t I?)
the nights dedicated to me, crawling desires
and candle flames enriching the air.

Those nights, so ardent once, so distant-
moments ago, dehydrated, famished
like a savage invading the breath of its prey,
those sunsets that I forgot (how could I?),
they exist like the sting of a bumble bee
guarding the honey of red clovers,
like the simplicity in the question:
“Why did you fall in love with a poet?”.

And the aftermath – so unclear, so erratic,
like the blossoms of edelweiss on Kilimanjaro’s hills
or like the waves on Dead Sea shores
struggling to cast a spell against the salt.
The answers – they pierce the silence,
because in what’s written I’ve found a way
to love the Bengali monsoons and
the biting beauty of hydrogen bonds,
because in his words about storms,
about darkness lingering with passion,
the inevitable gave me a heart …

In love with a poet

In love with a poet

©2013, B. T., All rights reserved

 

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