By Joyasmita Ghosh
It is not the day that seems special,
But the people who make it so.
For it is just another day;
The same sun, the same sky
And the same universe that guides the pass.
But you speak of it as a day of remembrance
And insist it be celebrated.
But is a day worth celebrating Life?
And given you, given your love,
Celebration and gratitude are an enormity.
Life and Death are a game of scores;
Each second that brings us closer adds on to Life
And each moment that pulls us apart add on to Death.
You ask for my choice of gift,
But I already have you.
What could be more dear, than a heart which beats in a rhythm similar?
A soul that bows in prayer for Eternal togetherness,
And happiness that unleashes at the smile that brings the dawn to your day.
You urge, and I finally ask you for a gift
And you instinctively say yes.
Don’t, for this may hurt,
promising a thing prior knowing its price.
And I go on to tell you:
If ever a lonely soul you stumble upon,
A shoreless sailor, with all hope gone,
Promise me you’ll hold her hand
And be the loveliest roses on her barren land.
For a heart that is dilapidated,
Life happens not in worldly dreams,
But in a feather-touch that brings joy untold
And shuts out one’s inner screams.
Thus begins the celebration of the heartbeat, knowing that
Gone is the chasm of bitterness;
A life awaits anew.
I say this, for I have once been a shoreless sailor.
Give you such a life, know that our love lives then
As the Heavens doth forever.
Tis my birthday today, and you can’t refuse me.
All I ask for someone, just like me, is a reason to celebrate;
Not just a day, but a life;
A life that gives glories, a life that gives pain,
But above all, a life that brings you home
And prepares you to set sail again.
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