Poem | Arpita Dasgupta

The Prufrock in Me

This city of joy, of mirth, of life. Oh Delhi!
I return to your womb with memories of a coffee bar bell.
Spun over hours of idle talk and banter
Of laughter and restraint emotions, heart pell-mell.
I just wait for you all my life-
Because you will never ask, and I could never tell.


You and I, we sit out at the coffee bar,
Against a purple sky of a certain kind.
Sipping out of cups kissed by a thousand lips,
Held over conversations and imaginations of our solitary minds.

We watched as people they came, and go,
Pottering over newspapers, chess-boards and string guitars
I say, these ‘things’ they too have lives,
And we borrow from them, their essence to fill up our hours.

And we waste time, precious time, you and I,
I afraid, you proud, to speak of what is dear.
Cowards! While of hate our tongues might slip easy,
But to confess a love is what we fear.

So, I swallow my fear and speak not of ‘us’
How can it be so? And with coffee mugs in our hands -
I must laugh with you, we are friends after all
And I can wait ofcourse - more coffee of a different brand?

Routines they form, we sit for hours at a stretch,
Trite conversation and small talk we make.
Hot paced and serious, and at time we take it slow,
But to speak of love, that is a chance I cannot take.

And then the purple sky must turn to black,
We bid adieu, farewell and say goodbye my dear
And I couldn’t do it, afraid I couldn’t say –
I leave it to later, another day, week, another year.

No comments:

Post a Comment