The Wordweaver

Breaking the soft morning mist
We shall meet again that winter
Somewhere like two strangers.

Your teen shadow, excited
Will bring you to the wordweaver
Whose verses have long
Taken her to sleep
Since your lullabies no longer.

And you, more nervous today
And still, more beautiful than ever
Will hold again my fingers
That once loved you
Those days that lost summer.

When your stealing eyes meet me
We will be amidst all there,
And yet far away that day
“Why still now?” they will ask
“Why no one else ever?”

And my silent smile will reply
In words that you always knew
On that far away winter.

© Arindam Dey


Your Lips

And then
Closing your eyes
When you gently lose
your lips in mine.

I will too
Find life once more
In some raindrops and
your lips tonight.

© Arindam Dey


I wait for words
As my pen dries up
in denial.

No, tonight is not
for words
Its only about silence.

A little left on your lips
And some
left in my heart.

© Arindam Dey


Yes, true
I was destroyed
that moment
our eyes first met.

All I do now
Is collect
the broken pieces
from time.

Where a little of you
still remains
And some of me
still loves.

© Arindam Dey


Once more on that road
Busy with the steps
Of those coming home.

I stay back a while
To breathe a little more
Of that lonely corner.

Where once in the rain
You had kissed me
And for once I was home.

© Arindam Dey


No, not all love stories have summer evening strolls together, kisses in the rain or a hearth of each other’s body in winters.

If only unposted letters, dead rose buds and fading wallet polaroids could whisper, they would tell you, “Yes, we had a love story too.”

© Arindam Dey


“The best and worst thing about memories, is the fact that you know, that there was innocence, that once lived in you…”

© Arindam Dey


I look at open roads
And it whispers to me
Distant tales left behind
By old lost footprints.

And I wonder to whom
It has whispered our story
I wonder who now lives
A little you, a little me.

© Arindam Dey


My burning skin
Longs the cool
Of your fingers again.

Fever, they say
As I drag the load
Of a body on my soul.

Fever, I smile
Just another tale
Of how I miss you girl.

When a burning soul
Longs the cool
Of your presence again.

© Arindam Dey

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