by Sourav Pattanayak
How long a time is twenty-four hours?
When there’s a bed to sleep, and a bath for showers?
When there’s a kitchen with food, and a work running years?
When tomorrow is no better, than today’s tears?
How unbearably long a time is twenty-four hours?
When your favourite ink pen, solemn and white,
Your company for morning, noon, and night,
Is missing, is nowhere in sight?
Luxury of things, is pain, is pleasure,
The comfort of company, is the one to treasure.
Where was it that I saw you last?
Embraced by my diary, one with the navy blue cast?
Or left in the pouch, in a sea of veterans,
Red and blue, smooth and fast?
The ball-point is a specimen fine,
Ever ready, for thee and thine.
But the ball-point’s not my favourite;
I demand for my beloved in white.
Far have we travelled,
In trains, real and metaphorical,
Sometimes in silence, sometimes vocal;
All this time, struggling to comprehend,
The ways and means, to a magnificent end.
Far have we come,
In the train of camaraderie and love,
Sharing memories worth more than a treasure trove.
From casual hook-ups, to lasting company,
I’m as used to you now, as I am to me.
If there’s joy in what we create,
There’s romance in the how of it.
I might crave success,
And bask in the glory of it.
But when the dust settles,
It’s you I shall come back to,
And share a laugh or two.
What have we in life, but for our favourite people?
This recital of our journey together,
Is a tale sincere, and a call to appear.
A penny for your thoughts, I have always been;
All I need now, is a pen for mine.
