The two does finally met,
Probably in the field
Where Rumi found no discrepancy.
A part of my childhood died,
And a grey hero,
Reminded me of Always.
And, I looked up at the sky,
Again an airplane filtered,
through the stars.
There are a few scattered,
Clustered directly above my
Tired eyelids.
Not as bright as my hometown horizon,
But still, it was the same sky.
You experienced four different weathers,
In a single day.
Mine were windy with sudden sunshine,
And a rather Disney night.
We both want to be on the airplanes, That take us to our city.
But, we find solace in the hourglass,
And calendars.
The cities are different,
The languages too.
You survive by idlisambar,
And, I by gasoline in the air.
Often, we lose touch,
But the 2 am’s recur,
And I know the phone never goes unanswered.
Since May 2013,
You became my daalbhaat
The winds are dissimilar,
But they bring us,
to the same Maidan .
The north south divide doesn’t hold,
We both share the same troubles in Bangla.
“We’re so broken, but we don’t realize.”
I won’t let you realize,
Not until a May,
Where we stop being each other’s
Idea of home.
Friendship lasts longer than fictions,
And we know,
Ours will live longer than
Our tarred lungs,
Be better than our
Dull, eccentric, and broken hymns.
Not until we fail
To take an apartment,
And abandon it for airplanes.
We will see the Cat Café,
And I will still remind you,

-Adrija Ghosh

1st Year, English


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