MOHIT MITRA Poet Free verse

The Luminous Fugue

—Shadows’ Dance in Light—

I—called—Love.
   It slipped.
    Past my shadow.
    Past my shivering hand
 on wet pavement.

Hiss—
   the tires,
   the drizzle,
   the bell
 I once heard
   and forgot.

I called Love—
   in their eyes—
    the ones I lived for,
 hands outstretched—
   laughter ringing,
    ringing,
 like coins
   thrown
    into a well
 whose bottom
   I could not reach.

I served.
 I prayed.
 I wrote.
And when their hunger—
   was sated—
 I was left—
   a vessel emptied.
 Foot tapping—
   the indifferent pavement.

 Heartbeat arguing—
   with the clock—
 my pulse—
   small rebellion
    against emptiness.

I called Love—
   in poems—
 fragile birds—
   crashing
    into walls
 I had built
   for myself.

I called Love—
   in rain—
   in a glance
    that lingered too long—
 in the quiet laugh
   I saved
    for no one.

And then—
   it struck—
 something luminous—
   laughing
    at my grasp—
 and I discovered
   something
    I had not intended to know:

Love is not mine.
   Not mine
    to call.
   Not mine
    to define,
    to prove,
    to bend.

It moves—
   where I do not.
 Sustains—
   even when I fail.
 And strikes—
   a current—
    through hand,
    through tongue,
    through breath
 I thought—
   my own.

I stand—
   fingers wet—
 on glass,
   foot tapping—
    still tapping—
 the indifferent pavement—

and feel—
   without knowing—
 the pulse—
   beneath all pulses—
 the rhythm—
   that cannot answer,
   cannot be held,
   cannot be named—

and yet—
   answers—
    everything.

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