There are pink silk moments of rendezvous, gleaming like pearls,
Innocently curious like a white lace veil, which excites glances
To seek ecstasy written on the face behind it.
Then there is a dark tunnel like waiting,
Whose infinity terrifies patience, reduces it into a frail dying sparrow.
There are kisses, demanding or yielding the whole being
A healing wet caress of tongues
A hot storm of mingled breaths, rekindling a miniature heaven within.
Then there are nonchalant conversations,
Flaring one’s bloodstream with icebergs,
The burn of coldness building a frozen hell inside.
There is a state when every truth echoes a pair of eyes,
Every reality or fantasy is an iteration of one dream,
Where mere words of beloved could redeem tears or shred smiles.
Then there is a choking adversity,
Sobs of betrayal, gashes of deceiving,
Hearts which pray for love are played by it.
Between all this, there’s a defining strike,
When the curse begin growing roots,
The time that spurs transition,
I want to reach to that cruelty of evolution
I want to heal that curse of shifting destiny
I want to reclaim that lost time….
Dedicated to those small signs which hide an apocalyptic warning of doom. Dedicated to all those apparently innocuous breaches which, at last, break bridges.
The title of this piece “le temps perdu” is a French phrase translated as, ‘the lost time’. Originally taken from Marcel Proust’s famous novel, “la recherche du temps perdu”, meaning ‘remembering past things’ or, literally, “in search of lost time”. The novel celebrates memories & this poem celebrates the evolution & culmination of memories & the stark contrast, they display, sometimes.