A beautiful Sunday's penning

A meeting of minds,

A huddle of hearts,

An introduction of ideas,

A tryst of thoughts.

We met one evening ...

A beautiful Sunday’s penning.

We discoursed, we discussed

And we talked much.

Avoiding seeing each other in the eye.

And yet it was those that didn’t lie.

We met yet another evening ...

A beautiful Sunday’s penning.  

He spoke of his love, his passion.

I spoke of emotions and their transgression.

He weaved a wonderful web of lusty lies.

And that is when I looked him deeper in his eyes.

We met yet another evening ...

A beautiful Sunday’s penning.

His eyes were like two pools so deep ...

It took me all my might not to fall in them so steep.

They were like two magnets that pulled me closer.

I resisted. I repelled. I tried much harder.

We met yet another evening ...

A beautiful Sunday’s penning.

He asked me “Why do you love them so much?”

I said, “They never lie to me as such.

For all the tall tales that your tongue tells to be

Your eyes are the ones that are faithful to me”.

We met yet another evening ...

A beautiful Sunday’s penning.

Yet one dusty day  I confronted him without deviation

And told him I knew of fact from fiction.

He laughed it off and said “silly things!”

I laughed as I knew for sure it wouldn’t be funny for him

If I were ever to say those “silly things”.

We met yet another evening ...

A beautiful Sunday’s penning.

Bless his deep dark eyes

For they knew not how to tell lies.

We met yet another evening ...

A beautiful Sunday’s penning. 

Muse - 2

He spruced up the cushions again and looked around the room. A bachelor’s modest flat. Basic furnishings ... clean and airy. He went to change his clothes in his bedroom. The other bedroom was converted into an art studio by him where he used to paint. Entry to the room was prohibited even to his man-servant Bhima. He changed his clothes and went into the art room to look at his painting. Almost done ... She was going to come today. He had first met her seven months back in the library and since then they had been meeting regularly once in a week on Sundays. By the seaside usually. He was charmed by her beauty ... her twinkling eyes, the dimples on her cheek when she smiled, her alluring voice. She had been away to Nagpur for the past three weeks and had called him today to inform him that she was coming to meet him at his home. He was quite pleased at the trust she placed in him for she knew he lived alone.

The doorbell rang. He opened the door and saw her ... and every time that he did his eyes refused to look elsewhere.

“Come in Priya”, he said, moving aside for her.

“Wow! Nice flat you have here! And you seem to maintain it quite well. I mean, for a man ...” she broke off.

He chuckled, “Credit it to Bhima. It’s his hard work really, not mine. Anyway, what would you like to have? Something hot or cold?”

“Nothing really. I’m in a bit of hurry. I wanted to share something special with you and I wanted to do so personally rather than over the phone”.

He looked eagerly towards her as she opened her handbag and took an invitation card out of it. She handed it to him and said “Remember I had gone to Nagpur with my parents? Actually my aunt had suggested a guy for me to my parents. I was in touch with him for the past 2 months but didn’t tell anyone till it led to anything fruitful. Well, I met him in Nagpur. Rishabh is a very charming fellow. He owns a software company and is just perfect in every way. I like him very much and since his feelings for me are mutual our families have decided to get us both engaged. It is to be held this Sunday and you are invited!”

She handed him the card and he took it from her graceful hands. He tried reading it but somehow it was all hazy to him. Realising that he was quiet about it he suddenly said, “Why Priya, you lucky girl! Or should I say lucky Rishabh? So much happened and you didn’t tell me?”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to say anything till I was sure about it and anyway, I got to surprise you!”

“Yes, of course! Surprise me! You did it too well. Congratulations!”, he said without putting his hand forward. Somehow touching her now would be awkward.

“So, how are things with you? And now that I am here I am sure you will let me see the portrait that you were painting of the girl whom you love ... Your muse!”

Saying so she walked towards the rooms and since the bedroom door was ajar she went towards the adjacent room. He had told her about his art studio when they had met. He immediately followed her and tried to stop her “No Priya! Don’t! It isn’t finished yet!”

But too late. She was already in his art studio and looked at the painting mounted on the easel.

She looked at herself.

He must have etched every nuance of her face in his mind to have created such a perfect resemblance.  And then she remembered his words “... of the woman I love”. She just stood there. He too was thinking of appropriate words to say ... if there could be any in the given situation.

She finally spoke haltingly, “I’m ... I don’t know what to say. This portrait ... I didn’t know that you ... I didn’t know I was your muse.”

He looked at her and at the invitation card in his hand. He then smiled weakly, took the bottle of black paint and splashed it across the portrait. “Muse no more!”