Saurabh

My best poem? I never really wrote it. It rose from the deepest depths of my heart— And I fell silent. ~ Mascha Kaléko

[poetrybysaurabh]

For Radnóti

(I wrote this poem for one of my favorite poet Miklós Radnóti. He was a Hungarian poet and wrote poems even in camps and on death marches. In 1944, at just age 35, too weak to continue, he was shot by Hungarian guards.His final verses, found in his pocket, remain among the most haunting in literature.)

Death kept circling around you,

such magnificent poems.

Your postcards reached me.

and yet you kept writing

I know they were not meant for me,

but—

I can hear it—the sounds of artillery coming from Bulgaria.

Even in this chaos, the one you were thinking of—

was it the same one

you wrote about in your poem, “In Your Arms”?

I can see myself among those burning houses and haystacks,

on the edge of that field, smoking pipe,

That little shepherd girl

who steps into the lake, making the water tremble;

those sheep gathered in the water;

the blood hanging from the oxen’s snouts;

the corpse beside which you lie fallen.

Der springt noch auf—

these words I hear clearly.

The blood has dried on my ear.

Was that fourth postcard truly your last poem?

Hungary—your home,

where, far away, the world of your childhood

still sways.

Are you still somewhere deep

among those silent stones?

I too do not know where the poet Mihály Vörösmarty lived.

I have not read a single one of his poems.

I cannot know.

But I can see—

locusts, oxen, church spires, gentle soft fields,

a trembling laborer afraid of his work,

forests, gardens filled with songs, vineyards, cemeteries,

and a small, very old woman

weeping as she walks among the graves.

Below, a lineman’s hut;

in the machine shed’s enclosure, a dog

rolling and playing.

I can feel the scorching air,

the house wall that has collapsed,

the plum tree that has broken.

You too were a poet.

Is that why they killed you?

Are you still composing poems down among the roots?

No rude devil can steal your poems and melodies

You are the poet everyone needs.

I want to write like you,

yet I will never be able to write like you.

Under the shadow of your poems,

I lie at night with my right hand beneath my head.

Tonight the moon is full in the sky.

Get up,my friend,

I am calling you.

Will you rise and walk again?

[poetrybysaurabh]

He stood looking at that house after many years,

the one that had once slipped away with childhood.

The house lay before his eyes in ruins, still carrying the marks of the past— broken brown doors,

walls with crackling paint,

a window in front

covered with iron bars, its shutters left open.

On the wall to the right, a small shelf with a secret little space where things were once hidden like treasures.

Outside, thick grass had grown wild now.

Clouds soft as cotton drifted across the sky,

and far behind stretched the hills,

faded in pale blue and mist,

as though wrapped in a light fog.

The tree nearby had long since dried away. Along the rough uneven path ahead,

new flowers had begun to bloom—

the path leading toward the river

where he had taken his first dive.

And when he had left that house,

a great many things had been left behind with it too.

[poetrybysaurabh]

Sometimes time

slips in on silent toes,

leans close, and whispers—

Where did the thread of love get tangled?

We have watched it happen, again and again—

the thread of our bond

twisting, knotting,

then loosening once more.

The weight of trust,

the drag of expectation—

Yet more than that,

We have seen that very thread

grow stronger.

Between us—

this love, this hush, these memories, this distance,

this ache, this quiet warmth—

Everything was knotted

to that single fragile line.

Still, we never understood

where the thread of love

became tangled.

In the pages of the past,

when the kite of our love

soared high against the blue sky,

even through rain

and howling wind,

We both gripped that thread of love

with fierce, unyielding hands.

And so the kite flew steady,

high and sure.

But when the winds turned,

when time shifted its weight,

Our kite began to falter.

You grew afraid

of holding the thread for too long,

So you let it go.

Because I held on for so long,

My hands began to bleed—

Yet I kept holding it.

Now it dawns on me:

The thread was never tangled at all.

The kite has been severed,

and the thread of love

has finally

snapped.

[poetrybysaurabh]

Gypsy Woman

Her eyes tell her stories

Tears arrive and linger on her lashes

With trembling hands she plays a melody filled with pain

Bright dress with a headscarf in the cold, dark night

Her body glows in the light of the fire

The small earrings in her ears shine like tiny moons

When she dances, everything seems to pause

The sound of her anklets feels like balm on a broken heart

She used to speak of the moon and the stars

Of that sun of possibilities

Which would bring a new dawn tomorrow

The future lies in the lines of the hands —

Thinking this, I extended my hand toward her

Smiling, she read the lines of my palm for a while

The marks of her past were very deep

She was ambitious, so she chased after big and small things

A grand life attracted her

She had built a house of dreams and desires with her own hands

And decorated it herself —

A courtyard full of happiness

From where she would gaze into the sky of freedom and fly away somewhere

A place with no restrictions, no rules

But her destiny was something else

Nothing turned out the way she had imagined

She herself brought down that house of dreams and desires with her own hands

Now she holds no wishes anymore

Her golden dreams have all turned into nightmares

With her head toward the sky and a tear in her eye, she said:

“I always talked of wealth and prophecy

In illusion, I lost everything

Had I been able to see the future, I would have saved

much of what was taken from me.

The future is not written in the lines of these hands,

Life is a vast ocean of possibilities

Where the waves of tomorrow keep forming and breaking”

Her words felt like magic

I wanted to sit with her a little longer

We both felt the shortage of time

“I see myself building a bright future—and in the very next moment, everything shatters —

That was my greatest fear

And now it seemed to have ended

Smiling, she rises

And leaving behind footprints filled with infinite possibilities

She walks away

[poetrybysaurabh]

SEASHELL

She loved collecting seashells—

She would hold them close to her ear

and listen for hours.

In them, she would hear the echo of another world —

a world completely different from this one,

where she could float freely

in the ocean of dreams

and cross any wave that came her way.

She handed me a seashell in the shape of a heart

and said,

“It will remind you of me if we ever part.”

Now I too wander, collecting seashells,

in search of that world

where she has been lost.

[poetrybysaurabh]

STILL LIFE

A strong wind blows in through the window, lifting the curtain.

Moonlight is making its way into the room.

On the table lie a few books and an empty coffee mug.

A sad song is playing on the vinyl.

The wind knocks down

the picture hanging on the wall.

I am lying on the bed.

The room seems to be growing narrower.

My eyes are getting heavy.

The sound of the song is slowly fading.

Once again, the night has brought with her — Loneliness.

[poetrybysaurabh]

Grief

My beloved,

What will our life be like

When “Grief” comes knocking at our door?

Today we are happy,

living carefree.

But life will not always remain this way.

Grief can rush in at any moment,

without warning.

I can feel it —

He is somewhere nearby,

watching us from a distance.

He will enter through this very door.

He will not come alone;

A couple of friends will follow —

Pain, Fear, Burden,

Misery, Anguish.

They will sit on this same couch,

wander through the entire house,

and who knows how long

They will stay with us.

When that moment arrives,

will we still be the same —

just as carefree, just as happy?

Will you still be there with me,

Or will the circumstances be different?

[poetrybysaurabh]

CLOUDS

I like to spend hours

Simply watching the clouds.

I envy a cloud —

Drifting so carefree.

I search within these clouds,

For shapes,

For faces.

And among all those shapes and faces,

I find one face — yours.

Without even blinking,

I gaze at you endlessly.

To touch your face,

I raise my hand…

But then a fierce gust of wind arrives,

The clouds scatter,

And your face shatters into the sky.

[poetrybysaurabh]

THE NIGHT

Grapes upon the table.

Your clothes on the floor.

And

you are asleep

in my arms,

just like a child

sleeping without a worry.

The red hickeys

on your breast and neck

only make your beauty glow even more.

A breeze

slips in through the window.

The night is calm,

everything is silent.

There is a hush—

a long, deep silence.

The only things I can hear

Are your heartbeat

and your heavy breaths.

With my head resting on your chest,

I’ve forgotten

all my worries too.

[poetrybysaurabh]

[poetrybysaurabh]

For Me

Behind this smile

Lies an aching pain.

It feels like I am soulless.

The harder I swim, the further you drift.

The tighter I grip, the faster you slip.

And your memories play out

Like a relentless slideshow.

Back and forth like tides—

Oh, these crazy emotions of mine.

But you won’t change.

Should I show you my flaws or should I hide them?

For me, thinking about you is like breathing.

All these sleepless nights

I longed for you—

For a face that lights up the dark like a moon.

And I end up embracing my fears.

In this dark and cruel world out there,

Only you are the solace for me.

[poetrybysaurabh]

[poetrybysaurabh]

[poetrybysaurabh]

[poetrybysaurabh]

#haiku

🌅🥀💓

[poetrybysaurabh]

[poetrybysaurabh]