It's cold, very cold
        at an altitude.
Sometimes I cannot see
        the whiteness of the snow.
Your black gloves burrow
         in your dark tresses.
Your black sunlit eyes
         hide behind a wink.

Your bohemian boots travel
Alone in a dream territory.

Sometimes it's the hair,
         dark and disheveled.
And the dark eyes
         unexplored, uncharted,
A depth within you.

Sometimes I cannot see
         the river Carmel
when you are in the foreground,
         so beautiful.

Sometimes it's too often,
Sometimes sometimes.

See how the children run!
Memory freezes a summer
and a day. The moment
doesn't get tired out
into futility. Nothing
should thaw this summer day
growing up years. Nothing.

This refrigerated summer
memory will not grow.
It will not pass out of
school and college. It will
stay uneducated. It will
not learn a lesson or
earn a living. It will
stay a pauper. Always.

This summer day, frozen
in time like a crystal,
will blind our eyes one day.
And the lasers of the future
will break the crystal cataracts
into infinite pieces of
memories dispersing in the
aged air, everywhere.

in Lido
your dangerous faith
a kite, the sky
and the hands
the hands raised
the bay
runs in the garden
sleeps in the air
watches the water
swims in the bed
dangerous faith
in Lido
night becomes
a tired day
everything comes online
time and space
and matter
I touch myself
my hair, my eyes
and feel
your hair, your eyes
in a dangerous faith
everything becomes
matter

Amit Shankar Saha, Kolkata, West Bengal, India