When love is like the scream of the deaf

Sometimes love is not measured in numerous days of sweet nothings..but that one touch of warmth, or even that one night when you belonged completely-

I touch your hair
those speckled bands of Grey
of shady evenings in shackles
coloured with austerity.
Your song drunk and meaningless
I come home to screams of togetherness
of a memory lost in time-
I shall scream again tonight,
my memory of you a deluge.

And then I recollect the Loire..( lines from Hiroshima Mon Amour)

"The Loire, a completely un-navigable river..its always empty..due to its irregular course and sandbars..In France it is considered a very beautiful river. Due mostly to its light..so very soft. If only you knew.."

"When you're in the cellar, am I dead?"

"You're dead..I loved blood since I had tasted yours..The world passes by above my head, in place of the sky of course..I watch that world pass by, hurriedly during the weeks..leisurely during Sundays.."

"I call your name softly"

"But I am dead"

" I call your name anyway, even if you are dead..then one day I suddenly scream..loud like a deaf person.."

"What did you scream?"

"Your name..just your name.. the only memory I have left, is your name."

"I promise I won't scream anymore.."


There is more to emptiness, than love and death put together and that is where you reside perhaps.

© 2013 Maitreyee Bhattacharjee Chowdhury