A Prayer Sans Sense

Do not venture beyond my thirsty sight.
I feel lost in me.
I cry out like that tired traveller of a moonlit desert
on whose dry tongue is written the jibes of a mirage.
Now that you have come next to my dusty path,
don’t leave.

I need water!

Waves of life thrash me from all sides.
But their froth is brackish.
Under the soothing shades of your eyelashes
let me rest for a while.
Then I would have to rise again
to quench my thirst.
Or, if you shed a few tears for me,
and they, like clear morning dew
climbing down tender petals,
reach my parched throat,
I will rest for a while.

Do not leave the premises of my grateful glances.
In their hesitance they follow the sound of your feet
to be impeded by sudden timid boundaries.
Fear grips my abandoned ears.

I need a song!

In its tune should be written solitude’s death.
Twilight tinged with its dolorous melody.
Or, if you breathe so that I could hear,
and its sound, like full wet lips pressing against my chest,
seeps through my pores,
I will close my tired eyes.

Do not leave the echoes of your chiming laughter.
I know there’s a phone.
But the metal feels only just cold.
In the hunger of all my senses,

I need aroma!

The taste of your icy feet, the wet hair after your bath:
in their quest I need to break this dream.
Or, if the sweat of your soft warm breasts
soak the creases on my abandoned forehead,
and a thin stream of calm joy flows down
the hollow of my neck,
I will dream on in my sweet sleep.

Do not elude my feeble touch.

Come,
sit next to me, and see
how your blood is flowing through my veins.

An idiot, having carved your idol,
has fallen at your feet of his deity,
and prays:

I need love!

© 2007 Ritwik Banerjee

A Prayer Sans Sense by
Ritwik Banerjee is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.