Sobhan Pramanik

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Smoker's Phenomenon


(Read in caption)

It's a smoker's phenomenon perhaps, to always hold the last puff a tad longer. Letting the fumes spiral and widen inside like ripples across a wind shaken lake, inflating their chest to a maxima, until it aches to sink back and then grudgingly stubbing the fire out against a tin ashtray; the toxic gas departing through lips and purring from nostrils quietly, in what seems to be a dreaded exhale. Whether the last drag is the sweetest or breaking from the high is sad, it is all still an acceptable agony. Unlike mine where I seem to be smoking minced memories, rolled in a flammable leaf of Time and burning recursively between my lips. My scarred heart that fervently drags upon this lingering past, fills my chest with massive clouds of tears that never made way to weepings. They stretch my lungs threatening to kill, but I am far from quitting. Smitten for life. And so I go on - breathing in fire, blowing out voids. For embers of love, after all, can never be stubbed. © Sobhan Image - Pinterest #YQBaba #Addiction #poetry #love #philosophical #past

26 MAR AT 22:23


"...like fingerprints on the hilt of a dagger
that had claimed a life, I am but a 
violated evidence of your love
with your lipprints on heartbeats 
down my neck, sentenced to a 
forever of yearning to be together;
this life or any other."

(Full poem in caption)

'Prisoners of Love' I remember our first drink together. I had brought you home to rejoice my first salary, picking on our way, a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. Driving the corkscrew spiral to its very last thread, I had popped the wine open, carefully pouring into glasses that sat light-filled on the table. How then you held one by its narrow stem, your white thighs carelessly crossed over my knees on the sofa and raised to your lips. I watched stars flow into your mouth from a yellow night - the sour rising to your eyes, making clouds out of your thoughts. And then when you lowered the glass, the night was half drunk with distant stars still swirling in it, and a matt red stain of your lips printed to the rim. I saw in that moist graze, the fine lines on your lips vividly etched. Thin cracks where the lipstick hadn't reached, the pearl sized aperture where your lips don't touch when you round them and the drooping arc that completes your mouth. Few more sips later, with the night emptied inside, there on the rim remained only a smudge red stain of what was once an intimate print. With each slow raise, your lips had met the crystal slightly moved from where it last touched, even overlapped, leading to a vapoury blotch of red lipstick, spit and words unrolled. What’s unnerving is that after all these years of having gone our ways, and my failing brain barely catching any remembrance of the souls I had drunk and got laid with; it is your eternal existence that glitters unsmudged from the crystal edge of my redundant heart. No one and nothing ever came remotely close to reconstruct my landscape, you left all dilapidated with your promises. Like fingerprints on the hilt of a dagger that had claimed a life, I am but a violated evidence of your love with your lipprints on heartbeats down my neck, sentenced to a forever of yearning to be togther; this life or any other. © Sobhan #YQBaba #Poetry

YESTERDAY AT 0:22