Author Archives: Paromita Bardoloi

The Night

Do you remember the night
we spent in the old hill side,
the night when the brooke smiled knowingly,
and passed by our side.

It was a rainy night,
your wet hair,
my trembling fingers,
our lips,
and the moon.

Somewhere the oceans must have sent the waves,
I heard everything your eyes said.

Whenever I ate peanuts by our lane,
no matter how careful I was,
I always dropped a part,
like that night, when we tried to be too careful about our emotions,
yet a part of it flowed,
and the stars went off to sleep.

My ear rings that I wore that night lied like two drops of unfallen tears,
beside your watch,
that held the moments forever.

I remember the shawl and your cap, that lied on the wooden chair,
like two strangers in a waiting room.

Even now after so many winters,
that night comes and flutters the serenity of my heart.

My dear poet,
sometimes do that night stares at you which we spent on the old hill side,
when you wrote the most beautiful poem of my life without words.

P.S. : Now you say that its all past, even I agreed hard,
until our eyes met, we realized we both are bad liars

Nostalgia

My dear,
Its winter now, and 15 days to Bihu,
and I’m thousand miles away from my sleepy town and you.

You will again sit on that old bench (where we often sat) by the blind beggar,
and sing our own folk songs of our brothers,
songs of our soil, tears and pain.

On the day of Bihu,
sitting on this alien soil,
I wonder if you be the last one to attend the community bon-fire at our field,
wearing your trademark white handloom kurta (I still remember the fading smell),
on the community feast will you miss the special salad that only I made…

Does the town journal still print your poems?
Did you write anything on the Bihu issue?
You know dada called up yesterday,
and asked me to send a poem,
I did not tell him that I stopped writing in Assamese after you left.

Are you still reciting in the town hall,
poems of our people,
that puts many to tears.
Will you by any chance miss me sitting near the sound box, my special place.

Dear…
I am sure things are the same in our old town,
the same soft sun, the foggy moon, the paddy fields and even the wind,
but at times my heart wonders,
are they all the same without me?

P.S. : Rocktim told me yesterday that you are naming your N.G.O.SWAPNA SAARTHI
I remember its the name we decided upon that winter afternoon at dada’s place.
And you still want me to believe that you forgot it all.

Do you remember that night?

Many a nights we sent the moon down,
talking about our days of youth and yonder,
so many moments I held you tight, and let tears flow.
Many a cold nights, we fled to our old hill side
and wished a wish of glory and galore for each other,
so many moments we became each other’s lullaby,
when sleep eluded us.
Remember the time when I cried a river, when love eluded you,
lord knows how I wished to set things right for you.

But time, the old gypsy man, will one day put us in different docks of life.

Now as I hold your hand of rare friendship…
I want to let you know…
I’ll be needing your friendship till life deserts my body,
stand by me that day when I begin my new life with a new man,
I might be scared, a bit nostalgic and sad,
hold my hand then and say,
you will be fine… and
I will be.

When one day I give birth to a new life,
I might be full of anxiety,
say then my friend…
you will be a good mother,
and I’ll be.

When my children grow up,
drop by my home,
and say stories of our childhood,
and lullabies of our youth,
I might let a tear drop,
but say my friend,
you will be fine,
and I will be.

Finally… one day when death beckons me,
sit by my bed side… and say,
“We will be friends until eternity,”
and I with a fragile voice will say,
“Do not worry my friend, we will be.”

Rape

I was raped last night
My rapist is let free

I will be raped today
I did not speak a word

I will be raped tomorrow
The society accepts it natural

The rapist is my husband

My first born

You were our first one,
whom I carried in my womb,
our first sign of love…
Oh, how I waited for you to arrive,
with diapers and woolens,
but you never did.
They said it was a baby girl,
fair and thin…
May be just like me.
Its been 13 years since then,
now we are 4 in our family.
But now whenever I sit at night,
and stare at the stars,
I know somewhere its you shining bright.
May be the angels never wanted to let you go,
but wherever you are,
I tell you my baby,
mamma loves you the most.

For some memories

I want to fall in love with that country lad again,
who wakes at dawn and works till dusk,
and goes back to the few friends with whom he has grown up with.
On his way back eyes, his beloved through the open window
which she keeps open in every season and fall,
and brings her an ear ring sometimes from the market shop.

How I long to belong to him
Who knows all the street from and back home
Who enjoys the entertainments that are held once a year in his town
Who is far away from the complicacy of the modern world, poetry and books
And the power relation
For whom sunday means a fish curry and an afternoon nap
Now standing in this busy bay of life
Lord knows how I long to belong to thee

I Inspire

I smiled… and inspired the flowers to bloom
I laughed… and the waves touched the shores
I talked… and clouds rained hard
I felt happy… and the sun shone brightly
I made love… and inspired the world to create
Everything… is a inspiration of my being
Everything is in me
And they call me a woman

The Phone

The phone rang yesterday dead at night.
I know I was the fool again to talk.
We talked nothing…
Still I waited you would say…
You didn’t…
I went back to my bed again, all the same with my wet eyes.

Change (for someone who never knew how much I love

(From an old diary)

Its eight months since we bade each other goodbye
Which was the hardest thing to say
But now I feel nothing have really changed since you left
Its the same sun, that wakes me up in the morning
I still run late for my college
Its the same samosa and tea I wake up to
This year I am the president of the dramatic society
I still bite my lips when I am tensed
I go to library everyday, and discuss ideas
In winter, smokes of fog still curl up when we talk
As usual I miss bathing at times
I go to my classes regularly
Meet the same people
Still run to the Principal’s office
I still chat on the internet
Have made a good friend on the net too
Which you laugh so much at
So nothing actually changed from the day you left
Its just that I have stopped smiling
And sleeping at nights

P.S. – if only memories did not whistle mournfull strains…

Every Night…

Every night… I talk to myself… many thoughts.
Which I thought I would share with you,
but every morning when I meet you,
and see your indifferent attitude,
I realize… I loved an illusion.
Yet going back… every night…
in solitude… I talk to you again…
in a false hope that may be next morning you will listen.

P.S. – if only he understood.

Change

(From an old diary)

Its eight months since we bade each other goodbye
Which was the hardest thing to say
But now I feel nothing have really changed since you left
Its the same sun, that wakes me up in the morning
I still run late for my college
Its the same samosa and tea I wake up to
This year I am the president of the dramatic society
I still bite my lips when I am tensed
I go to library everyday, and discuss ideas
In winter, smokes of fog still curl up when we talk
As usual I miss bathing at times
I go to my classes regularly
Meet the same people
Still run to the Principal’s office
I still chat on the internet
Have made a good friend on the net too
Which you laugh so much at
So nothing actually changed from the day you left
Its just that I have stopped smiling
And sleeping at nights

P.S. – if only memories did not whistle mournfull strains…

Every Night – for someone whom even love could not

Every night… I talk to myself… many thoughts.
Which I thought I would share with you,
but every morning when I meet you,
and see your indifferent attitude,
I realize… I loved an illusion.
Yet going back… every night…
in solitude… I talk to you again…
in a false hope that may be next morning you will listen.

P.S. – if only he understood.