an evening

The girl from Ipanema
starts sounding melancholier
and the roses on the table bleed
like the cliched poem
I wrote for her
what seems like
a few decades now

Tied tongues hang between us
like pearls of dewdrop
on the tip of a leaf
and awkward fingers entwine
to compensate for the silence

Slowly we savour
the last drops of caffeine
dipped in flavours of yesteryears
slurping each moment
like a holocaust awaited us
yet anticipating the mist of smoke
on the other side of the door

The sun is gradually covered
by a mystical shawl
that appears orange one jiffy
and black, the next

The evening ends here
and so does the magic

An uncertain smile
and I search my pockets
for my pack of  cigarettes...


Authored and shared by - Bhaskaryya Baruah