And then walking along with her by a little stream by a little wooden bridge and a half moon hung in the sky, I feel that the pain is back. Why from where it came back I don’t know but it is true and has come back and I can feel that with each rush of blood there is also a hypnotic going back to pain. She is here at this very moment of this very night and I can easily put my finger on her touch her and make her come close and say to her everything I can say. But at the same time I know it is not so easy and it is never easy, like that white moon hanging over the bridge it is near but actually very far. Women! How different they are. And they come and at last they go! Each one creating somewhere a silent invisible mark that can not be seen but only be felt. Staring at her, I am sure she would be gone someday soon, I am destined to lose her and how much I try to hold her she would leave and perhaps I would happy to see her leave. It is when that very first face which I loved with a fresh young heart that comes back and she with all the glow that never fades from her face smiles at me and I look at her numb silent and sipping every bit of sweet pain that flow in me. I know that at this moment I want that she should go away and I can write.

But near the stream, we stop and lie down on the grass and saying nothing we close our eyes and breathe long.

The moon shines bright that night for long and lying beside a woman on the grass and listening the small stream flowing makes me somewhere complete but broken. I can feel the white light of the moon playing on my face my restless eyelids now quite calm as if in dream and at the same time I can see various broken pieces like embers of a lit fire somewhere, dancing. I see myself the very first night when I wrote poetry listening at midnight to a bird singing, I came out of my room walked on the open street and beside a tree with a beautiful yet strange smell I found the first words. I came back at once to my room and could hear the breathing of my mother on the other room sleeping, which made me happy and sad because she looked tired and old. I opened my notebook and wrote the first line of poetry and knew that I was in love with the girl I had seen in college. She was the first woman in my life whom I loved with everything I have and she loved me too so much that one day it all got spoiled and destroyed and we separated. Now lying here on the grass in Madrid and feeling the sensual winds of Spain flowing over me and touching beside me the woman and the beautiful breathing of her young full breasts that look silky and soft in the light and half darkness. I feel a terrible longing to touch her feel the warmth of her body on me and I know she will be a remarkable woman tonight if we make love now before tomorrow comes and everything looks different and the woman too not the same but in love with someone else. But tonight she is mine, I can feel that by seeing her and the sweet bit obsessive smell of the woman’s body all over me now and I want to hold her and prolong the silence that has been created with no words between us now. I feel an irresistible urge and it creates in me a little like getting broken again and feeling the pain rising. But I close my eyes and try to think of something else.

After a while the woman comes and kisses me deep on my lips and her big full breasts on my chest.

The white moon saw us naked and making love with no sounds of importance except the rhythm of flowing waters of the stream.

A moment with her
Subhadip Majumdar

Subhadip Majumdar is a writer poet from India. He is certified in Creative Writing from University of Iowa. He also edited for a long time a reputed Bengali poetry journal. Wrote a short novel as Tumbleweed writer in Shakespeare and Company, Paris. Stories and Poems published all around the world. Two poetry books published and one novel in process of publication.

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