The day a river told me to write.

There are letters
waiting for my touch, 
back home. 

And you say, 
if you want to write, 
write with your fingers burnt and bleeding.

Write because I don't care
whether its 3 at night
or my sides hurt from remembering you
for too long,
But I'll wait for your excuse.

Its a surprise we have spent our evenings
Counting boats, but not drowning.

Its a surprise we haven't
Hated each other always.

Your body is a wreck of impure thoughts now.

And I'm worried, when I find you again
You'd be dreaming, of me.

 

Nilesh Mondal currently pursues a course in engineering by day, and struggles to stay awake amidst heaps of unwritten poetry every night.