Anu

dear rafa,

it's been a million seconds

since a million seconds towards love

and the numen of that love

seems to have called it a day,

and yet

the nudiustertian nature of it

only further seems to cement

the sempiternal nature of it

even though the masochist in you

has now turned into a gaberlunzie,

and my menstrual rivers

have now lost their power

to rejuvenate me and wake me up

from a failed dawn:

...

you should know that

your lycanthropy has always charmed me

ever since we had started our half hour chats

on the steps of our english tuitions,

and it is not so much the wolf in question

but your shivering hands when you held mine

revealing signs of an inner preta

that ensorcelled me

and made me want to play caretaker;

and now, the frittle of your kiss

at the doorsteps of Ramakrishna Mission

has turned into a scar

and refuses to leave my cheeks,

and that is how i know

that you've left behind

an empty soliloquy in me:

...

i wish that you write to me once

for, my metaphors for your memories

do no justice to the angst of my womb:

sincerely,

your Anu

....

6 months and 66 days later...

....

dear rafa,

you still haven't written

and yet my desire to berate you for it

gets consumed by the

aurora borealis of your love

that you had once immersed me in,

and every time my fancies of becoming

your personal ecdysiast

make me a little more wet,

i have to go read one of your poems

which, just so you know,

seem to borderline braggadocio

in their use of the written word,

so much so that

your sesquipedalian catachresis

takes a total of six reads

just to get applause:

...

you should know that

the hands you now hold

are those of my bench mate’s

and i think it's fucked up

that you'd pick her over me

after all that we've come to grow into;

you see,

i'm just like you in a way,

i too have had a chained childhood

locked away in the clutches of rules

only to further give into expectations

under the weight of being the elder one

in the family;

i too have lost count of the steps

i've had to take to walk away from

the pretty but expensive skirts

i was attracted to;

i can relate to what you say in your poems

about being able to be loved

only by those who've known darkness,

so, when i have an unfaithful day,

i look for solace in one of your pieces

even though i wish i could throw at you

the added dictionary i have to have

while drifting away into them:

...

you've got to come back to me

so that i can show you

my panacea for your wounds

in the warmth of my bosom

and the isthmus that i have

for the erect nuance of your lust

and the philtre of your baloney pony;

and nothing will ever take you

away from me:

i hope you write to me:

sincerely,

your Anu

....

10 months and 10 days later...

....

dear mr. "i'm too good

to remember her anymore",

you've now given new meaning to

lackadaisical oblivion of love,

and this will be the last letter

i ever send your ass:

it's too bad that

our pridian years have become

a fucking blur to you,

and the aestival nature of your charm

has turned into a frozen stop-sign pole

in the middle of hiemalsmaze,

only to rust away into uselessness:

i'm putting my heart away

into Davy Jones's locker

and throwing the key away,

i'm slitting my own wrists

to stop the ichor of my love

as a final symbol of my ache for you;

but, before i do that,

i curse you

that you become unlovable,

that love never touches you,

that you feel the wrath of abandonment,

that your words cause you emptiness,

that kakorrhaphiophobia eats away your soul,

that you starve for redamancy,

that your sleep becomes your scream,

and that you suffocate your own dreams:

...

and now,

the blood has started to pour out

my wonderful one,

and the mirror has started to become hazy

my wonderful one,

and so,

here's me embracing your silence:

lots of love,

your Anu

....

7 years and 7 days later...

....

dear anu,

periphrasis has always been my thing

but i don't think it can save me

from the pathos i feel

while i pick up your ashes;

i'm afraid

your curse has taken its effect on me

and hermitage has become my sobriquet

and saudade has become the theme

of my sleeplessness;

ofcourse,

there's no way to gloze

the cavalier nature of my value for you,

and there's no way to make amends

for, you're on the other side of the river,

and i only wish i have what you had to get there:

...

time has no ebb

no matter the brobdingnagia

in my prayers,

and there's no way to undo

the erratic left by the

glaciers of constellated memories,

yet, i offer you

humble pleas of clemency,

for,

today i know of the shenanigans

of unreturned love,

and today i know of the ladybug

that never got its way;

and i also live today

in the shadow of your curse

where all seasons appear the same,

only to let you know that

i may pretty soon join you

in the midst of your valleys

where the abundance in your love

would finally bring me peace:

...

no apologies for you

but when i did,

i did care for you:

sincerely,

your Rafa