–By Procheta Banerjee Chatterjee—
As I sit beside the crimson
curtains to write about us,
All I can gather is silence.
The silence that is born out
of the realization,
that the beauty of a word
lies in its absence.
The moon embraces the
evening sky sparkled with
mauve glitter,
and the sand slips away.
To write is to kill, to speak
is to distort
that which is beyond words.
This silence marked
the moment of creation,
cut through the cycles of
time, and brought us
together again.
Listen, just listen to the
Sufi mystic singing of love
as your lips touch mine.
Hear the rustling of leaves,
as you run your fingers
through my hair.
Don’t hold me tight, or I’ll
slip away.
Don’t let me go, or I’ll
fly away.
Just be yourself to find me
beside you, smiling away
the night.
See me through the
moonlit window, to see the
dance of hues
Today, just be quiet,
and let the silence speak…
