Old Copmrade Poem by Jyotishman Debnath

I speak stones
so cold so cold
he makes it warm
with his breaths

when the desires take
the rhythm of moon
I present him a shapeless 'if'
he takes it
without uttering a word

I defend the assault of jasmine
as he looks at me in the tune of violin
we hug each other
and greet
the blessings of spring
at the beginning of the day

at dusk
when the wind
blows like a restless
teenage lover
with the cup of wine
I taste the salt of his eyes

at night
we make love
with the dolls of butter
after a while
we sculpt a smile
with the hammers of fellow feeling


all torn over coat hopes rolls down
as I lit up the cigarette

at midnight,
with the strokes of the clock
we take off our eyes.....


and just before
the morning rise
I write him
in my diary......