Dear Moavi ( “The Friendly Dove”)

 Dear Moavi

I see her on the ephemeral moments of evaporating droplets, It’s a struggle to hold or to let go… yet all I could ever do is to observe and comprehend. “The friendly dove” is shy and brave. “The friendly dove”  is naïve and capable to camouflage in the shades of masquerade.

It’s been a long Moavi that I have written to you, hold you, or even look up to the fragments of you, radiating a spectrum of monochromes to be resonated with contrast and longingness. Our last conversation had me thinking….A monologue breathing on the 32nd day. I wonder how your trip to Prague must have been, does it really reminds one of “The Castle” or it’s just another fairytale. Yes I know you could have been anywhere but my imagination had you settled over Charles Bridge, smoking an epilogue of cremated ambiguity.
I’m glad that you had pulled me to a café terrace at night, under the canvas over the lights. I had always dreamt of this place, the progression panorama as it bounces between the stone pallets and the cosmos of eternity…..A moment of its own paradox, to stay or to be lost, to new, or to realize the inner you.

There’s a couple walking close to us, and there are people too near yet so distant from us. I wonder if it’s just the waiter who can transit among both these worlds, he belongs and he doesn’t. With the apron he’s the guiding source of this adobe, stranger yet connected to everyone. No one knows his name still he’s our point of transcendence, he’s the key to the inner doors, and as the after-hours differentiate towards dawn when the world awakes, he’s gone….Like he never was and never had existed, he has transited from the focus to pole.

Above the second building if you’ll notice dear, to me the silhouette relives as a bird. My mind says it’s a crow but my heart has accepted it as “The friendly dove”. It’s strange to see “The friendly dove” having its back turned away from the omnipresent beige tables, maybe what he sees is more alluring compared to my efficacy point of view. Yet dear letting my gaze away from you is a luxury I can’t afford among myriad worlds whose passage you possess. Especially knowing that at the break of genesis “The friendly dove” realizing the door ajar of my balcony transits in a world I breathe and suffice, he just sits there, stares and gazes without having a single ray of sight towards me, as if my presence is like the wind…A wind so vile and arid, there’s a spark in his eyes there’s a vulnerability in his wings, his tandem touch has restraint and his thought engulfs a void, wonder if he sees my reflection or wonder if he has brought a message I’m too scared to accept.

“Stuck in the canal of Arles…They serve coffee here
Listening to blues, waving through Jazz
Upbeat of saxophone and a placid numbness
I’m on my way Tokyo…The route of clouds through Osaka and Kyoto
There’s an old cherry blossom tree near Mt. Fuji
It awaits you, It calls you…It is you
A Pallet of carved delicacy, an anomaly of revolutionary dungeons”

Dear, your words are too perplexing to understand…I had just ordered our espresso and there you’re not to be found or to be felt anymore. I wonder what might have stopped you from staying, is it the truth or accepting the denial of its existence. Your whisper is a riddle, one that I’ll wear, tugged tight, ironed, and steamed with desires. Your dress had polka dots, I wonder if it had rained in the alley, today I wish you would have waited for me to compliment them, I know your smile had realized long before the thought was even planted.

Dear Moavi, my words they don’t speak to me anymore…There’s a mutiny widespread at my Mont Saint Michel. I fear that I’ll be freed, I can’t write anymore dear, I just can’t…

“I heard The friendly Dove …It stumbled upon the wind-up chronicles”

By- Kshitij Sinha