Nothing But

“It’s funny how we realised the true beauty and yet despair of love, only when all our fear, our anger, our hatred and our absence were done throwing at each other to the fullest of our abilities.

When we had nothing but love left to give.”

© Arindam Dey

In The Rains

Someday, I want to stand with you in the rains.

I want to see why you surrender to the showers with open arms and closed eyes.

Why you love that tameless wind playing with your flowing dark hair.

Why do you soak in those drops kissing your nervous soft skin and those puddles dancing under your jumping happy feet.

Someday, I want to love you back, just like them.

© Arindam Dey


True… Days rush over me like the waves covering your name that I scratch on the sands of time… every time.

But then the waves go back like night… leaving us behind… a few smudged remains of you and some broken parts of me.

© Arindam Dey

Midnight Memories

“There is something about midnights. Sudden wakings, unreasonable tears, tameless memories, soulcrushing longings. I don’t know how to put it in words. It’s almost like being surrounded by an endless hollow and forced to keep breathing long after you are dead.

I just pray, it stops happening to you too, someday soon…”

© Arindam Dey

Some Days

“Some days, I fight and fight till the last to convince my heart, that no, it is not about you anymore.

Some days, I just surrender…”

© Arindam Dey


Since our story ended I started hating mornings.

For mornings meant another day’s wait to meet you in foreverland and whisper to your ears, “Yes, I still love you madly…”

© Arindam Dey


“She was more in the quiet depths of his interludes, than in the flowing ecstasy of his notes.

The others, oblivious, just romanced his tunes.”

© Arindam Dey


“Scars are scary,” said the skin, “they remind you what hurt you bad.”

“But scars are beautiful too, my dear,” the heart replied, “they remind you that you were once capable of love. And that is hope.”

© Arindam Dey

Not In Words

“You never write anything on me,” the lover complained.

“Of course I do,” the poet replied.

“When?” the lover was surprised, “I never read any!”

“Not in words,” the poet smiled pulling her closer, “But what poetry is better than closed eyes and engaged lips?”

© Arindam Dey

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