Poems by Alankrita Pandey

Such love as this

a poem by Alankrita Pandey

You and me, the drama unfolded
Caring and Caring
Love and Love
Different kinds.
Involvement
And distance
Yet understanding. Maybe

I wonder
What was it you saw
Perceived depth
Shallow gravity
Innocuous happenings
Significantly meaningless

Did it hurt?
Did it matter?
The nearness
Your truth and my truth
And you knew they were
Not the same

I was blind
But you
Knowing what was not
And Knowing it would not be
Persisted

Of course I am guilty
Of course it hurts
Of course I feel responsible
I do care, you know

And yet
You expect me to live on
As if it was not
Only my truth a reality
Yours an illusion

I cannot love you
Yet you punish me
By caring still
Hate me
Be Bitter
Forget
Anything but this
Calm acceptance of the way things are
Of the way they will be

I will not ask forgiveness
There is nothing I have done
Will only wonder
If I can ever be deserving
Of a love such as this.

Constant change

a poem by Alankrita Pandey

Sometimes
Life seems to stand still
And time to rush on
The days extend to infinity
But nothing gets done
Sometimes
Life seems to be passing by
And time monotonously slow
The nights spent tossing restlessly
And the dreams are worrisome
Sometimes
Life is a mass of contradictions
And time a cruel hammer
Mornings and evenings are painful
They lack the necessary colour
However
Nothing is fixed
Nothing is transient
And while things change
They also remain the same.

Affair and after

a poem by Alankrita Pandey

So this too
Has passed
Moments
Those chit notes torn out of
The pages
Of
Reality
Billet douxes
That fluttered
Curled about their edges
And tapered
Into mere fibers
Forbidden
Therefore enticing
All the more alluring
Maybe dull and lifeless
Lost charm
If they were allowed
Just scraps
Not worth the paper
They were written on.

My fantasy
My dream
My reality
For you: maybe not even worth the thinking
So no wasted thought
Nor effort at remembrance
Once gone, spent forever

But for me
Yet another affair of the heart
That leads to good poetry
When will my literature
Take a backseat to reality.