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The Blue Marooned Enchantress (Prose Poem)

The day was hot. Though, by the calendar, Summer not due now; it’s few days left to bid Spring. The eve is, thus, cold comparatively with a mad wind scrambling my hair, her hair. For long we’re stealing the glance at each other. We don’t know each other, obviously. I stood up, I need a cigarette. I search my pocket and saw there’s no cigarette and only matchbox. I’m alone; I’m blue. The emotion got deep after this.

Hey…need a fag…she is standing there. I deny because I’m not into weeds or drugs or a’thing like that. She smiled–what can I say of the smile. It was like the streak of the ray of setting sun illuminating a rainy burnt orange colored sky. She took out a pack of cigarette from her bag and open the lid to me. I deny and she laughs and said these’re  normal. I look at her eyes. They are not decorated with kohl or mascara; they are serene and deep with hazelnut eyeballs. I took one; she also. She stooped down, her neckline was visible and rebellious enough, and light mine with her lighter ‘fore her. I’m alone; I’m blue. The emotion got deep after this.

She sat down beside me. The air was not more mad but wild. It carries her odor to her. Pleasant it is, but, s’thing more added to it. A light seductive odor it was like the morn smell at winter; like summer eve smell after Kalbaisakhi followed by rain. I inhale it as much as I can. She moved closer to me and leave her smoke on me. The head got dizzy; eyes goes blurred. She whispers in my ear–sweet soft but blue voice it is–we both are alone; the evening is wild; will you come with me. I look at her; I’m startled. I try to say I don’t entertain this, but, I can’t. S’thing hold me back. I’m alone; I’m blue. The emotion got deep after this.

Excuse me…are you okay…wake up…are you okay…a soft female voice woke me up. I saw I’m still in the chamber of the club. It is she standing before me. I ask her what has happened to me. She smiled–same it is–and dropped the name of the drink I was offered, and, instead, she continued by saying the recipe–it has been prepared with blue of the sky; maroon of an uncharted island; golden hue of the setting sun from autumn; silver from the spring moon; ice of the forgotten past and then stir in a jar of dreams…I look at her again and she smiled again. I’m alone; I’m blue. The emotion got deep after this.

Sir…sir..are you okay…a heavy voice jolt me, startle me. Where is she, where is the chamber…I was sitting at the bar ‘lone. What did you’ve given me…I asked the waiter. He smiled, it is like her. He transforms to her. And said, you’re alone, you’re blue…your emotion is deep…she paused and come forward, and taking me to her breast, so I gave you the Blue Marooned Enchantress…

I had written the poem in Historical Present Tense. Kalbaisakhi is the seasonal storm that occurred in the Bengali month of Baisakh i.e. during April to May. The shorthand I had used are–

A’thing–Anything; These’re–These Are; ‘fore–Before; S’thing–Something

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