MOHIT MITRA Poet Free verse

Riven Reverie

—A torn canvas is two paintings—

I found your fragrance
sleeping inside the sigh
of fractured frescoes,
where a torn canvas is two paintings ~
one halo-hushed,
nursing the nectar
of our blossom-bound becoming,
the other velvet-veiled,
drinking the blue hush
of an unfinished forever,
where even ivory
kept listening
for the crimson
it had once embraced…

O beloved,
dress my pulse
in your perfume-lit pyres;
let saffron sorrows
scatter their pollen psalms
through silk-veined yearning,
until every heartbeat
blooms into a chrysalis chalice,
love-drunk on desire,
moon-laden,
breathing your name
like a fragrance
the dawn dared not disturb…

Come—
seduce the stars without a script,
until their silver syllables
melt into orchid embers,
adorning our shoulders
with constellations
stitched from sleeping fire.
Teach each galaxy
to gather around us
like swans,
their sapphire feathers
anointing eternity…

The clouds spill
a thousand secrets,
yet every colour
guards only one—
blue still grieving
the gold it once touched,
umber searching
for the warmth
of rose.
Even the torn edge
still paints
the invisible air
between us…

Melt my tears
into your sweet fire,
until grief glows
like garnets
beneath snowfall,
until every droplet
becomes a blossom lantern
floating across
our velvet vigil,
where lilies
drink moonlight
through their roots,
and roses
wear rain
instead of petals,
perfuming darkness
with crimson mercy…

I wandered
through alabaster orchards,
where incense-winged moths
carried fragments
of forgotten sunsets,
and cathedrals
bloomed beneath unseen bells.
Each stained-glass window
remembered another season,
every candle
burned with blossom-light,
every echo
wore your silhouette
like a veil
woven from breathing starlace…

Lay your raven-gilded hands
upon these divided colours.
Teach cobalt
to forgive ochre,
teach vermilion
to return
without mourning,
teach every abandoned pigment
that beauty
was never broken—
only persuaded
to bloom twice.
For the missing strip
became
the brightest colour
in both paintings,
shining where
no brush
could ever reach…

So leave me
between these dreaming portraits,
where one canvas
gathers dawn
inside its gilded veins,
while the other
wraps your absence
in celestial silk,
each half
painting the other
with invisible light,
each wound
growing gardens
of impossible blossoms ~

and if heaven
ever learns
the fragrance of love,
it will gather
radiant dust
singing
from singing seam
where one canvas
became
two miracles ~ ~

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