Shomprakash Sinha Roy

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Eyes, black eyes, won't you stop staring at the abyss

as if it wasn't there.

Ears, red and bleeding brown, won't you stop flapping at the midnight sun that just won't listen?

Pain, dear pain, will you ever accept that cease and desist we agreed upon many moons ago?

Life, black life, will you stop pretending, stop acting like me, when I behave alive?

Eyes, black eyes, will you stop being blue, at the drop of a lid, till it just isn't true?

I've wondered about all the things I would tell you, to sort of try and explain exactly what it is that draws me to you, that has drawn me to you for the last twelve months.

And now that we're here, this is not something I can tell you. I can tell my self this.

This is not the town I chose, or the home I dreamt of, neither the dreams that kept me alive nor the nightmares that I scavenged for reason or desire, perhaps ambition – yet, I am with you, and I am home.

I love you.


It's real, love. Very real.

It is a matter of surprise, then, that the definitions of love that yearn so much to breathe within me, are somehow lost in the inexpicability of every moment when it sweeps through me. I cannot tell her what love is, but sense it flowing right back at me in my immobility, for when she touches me, my body cannot move, my mind does not want to, and my heart has already skipped the shell and taken over. In that one moment, I become her, almost, and feel loved as if I was in love with myself.

And yet, the same thoughts fail me when she asks me, bright eyed and dazed quite as myself, what love is.

It's her.

It' all her.

The world before I knew her? And the world now? Every inch of it looks the same, but feels different in the way that I now feel everything. Not in a way I've felt much anything prior; almost as if this is the first thing I've ever felt. For however unreal everything around me, all things contained through time and space, through memories and dreams, through night and day alike, were once just a tale, and now that she has emerged, it's all real.

As a child, I found amusement in dabbling with the trickery of cards and playful illusions dubbed as magic, but the excitement of it all was dampened by the childlike confusion of not knowing what most things were and why they acted the way they did. Growing up certainly didn't help much, because pain is a great teacher but it does not impart the wisdom to heal, or to be happy. It is perhaps the law of whatever governs nature, then, that she was meant to tell me everything with the silence that maybe once created this universe. And she did, and now I am content with magic around me, not the kind I can control or be vain of, but the kind that puts me at peace when I see a leaf fall, or a cloud pass over me, or anything in the world that ever happens, and know why. I no longer wonder.

It happens, most everything happens, to keep us together.

Never thought I’d have a reason to walk past windows from my past and find a reason to smile about memories yet to come.

Never thought the small town college freshman deep in me would find the simple joy of a Pizza Hut offer quite as brilliant as the years gone past seemed to be.

Never thought Kingfisher Premium would replace the single malts I never tasted, as drinks to really cherish.

But then again, I should have known.

You are, after all, my happy surprise.