A night to remember

All other nights seem commonplace
in the shadow of that night,
where dormant feelings woke up to sight.
An unspeakable, aching void was ladled
by a steaming bowl
of firm hugs, frantic pulling and many pecks.

A fizzy content settled into my thumping chest.
It was a night to remember.
It was one of the best.

The territory above your bosoms
belonged to me. I can now trace
the shape, arches, hollows.
The concave and convex of it all.
The thin of your eyelids, and that mole on your cheek.
A night like that, with a girl like you,
for long I will seek.

With your words, I could relate,
as water does to its container.
Sticking to the shape, painting the sides
and the bottom with its transparent glow.
And eventually settling still
as if it found its home.

It all started with a drive.
We drove in the dark,
under the vigil of amber lights and stars,
in the outskirts of the city.
But that was our car
following the up, down and even of roads.
We weren’t quite there.
Instead, inside, we were lost
in a world of our own.
Where only a haze of the honking could penetrate,
and incoming beams. Nothing else.
We paraded on the trails to heaven, slowly,
to escape,
into one another.

For a brief time
sitting atop my car,
we wondered ‘if it could always be like this’.
Watching the confluence and crisscross of gleams
against a stark black.
We sat back in,
and drove away.
The question tiptoed with us.
After a while we abandoned it.
We knew better once we looked out.
The view never remained.
However hard we tried.
It pleases you, welcomes you, faces you
and before you have relished the whole of it,
it glides by,
only to repeat the same programme
for some other traveler.

After all, an ephemeral drive is life.

Four closed walls promise a deep privacy,
like the thermos flask.
That never tells about the nature of the liquid
swimming inside it.
A privacy that sparks a tale of intimacy,
of bodies, of souls.
I am afraid there’s no witness
but ourselves.
My swift hands and your trembling, closed eyes.
Kindling themselves in the heat
of an ardent flame
of life,
that is rearing to fly,
but can’t quite do so.

As I write,
I can’t recollect the exact talks.
For one can remember words and phrases,
the logic and reasoning behind them.
But how can one remember feelings?
One just soaks them.
I can’t recollect the exact talks.
They were emotions packaged in words.
I soaked them all up.
It’s in me,
like blood and the oxygen breathing in it.

In the pale shine
of the next morning, calm and still,
when the engines hadn’t spewed poison yet,
I could see you twisting and turning.
Like life itself.
That courses in a loop and still not knows,
where to go.
Like a love letter trapped inside an envelope.
Waiting to be opened, to be given direction.

All other nights seem commonplace
in the shadow of that night,
where dormant feelings woke up to sight.
An unspeakable, aching void was ladled
by a steaming bowl
of firm hugs, frantic pulling and many pecks.

A melody, unknown till now,
lulled my restless chest.
It was a night to remember.
It was surely one of the best.