My fingers flutter through
And the stubble on your cheeks
And I think how
I’ve always liked men with a beard
But not on you.
You have a habit
Of holding my hand when we cross a street
And when we watch a horror movie
And I ask you why won’t you let me go out in the dark.
You’re scared, you mumble.
You see, my love,
There’s a right amount of everything:
Every aroma, every word, every gaze.
You sometimes say the wrong things at the right times
The right things at the wrong time
You speak too much, and not at all
Holding me close with your gaze like your favourite toy
Smiling like you’ll never smile at a woman again.
There’s a right amount of everything.
And you’ll learn it with every hand you hold, every time a heart breaks.
And you’ll make an equation, for the next woman who’ll warm your bed
Not too much
Not too little
Just the right amount of love.
But right now, you’re just a boy.
And you don’t measure, for this is all you know.
You’re a boy
Maybe I’ll wait for you to learn
Maybe I’ll wish you don’t.
I see your eyes,
Soft when they touch me
And your fingers tracing
The air between the two of us
Like an invisible wall, an incomplete thread
A pattern you can’t solve;
And I don’t want to realise
That he’s never looked at me
The way you do,
But I do.
You say that unrequited has its own perks
It never makes me ordinary for you
I never wear out
You say you never want to forget that.
I ask you, “Have you ever felt guilty of not loving someone back?”
You laugh, it’s beautiful
But not as beautiful as his.
I ask you again, “Why me?”
And you tell me
“We accept the love we think we deserve,
But we choose our own poison.”
When people ask you, what is luck
Tell them it’s an artist struggling for the right words
Before finding the one that fits perfectly.
It’s an orator, influencing millions
With shaky fingers cold feet.
The number of drafts on a writers desk
Before stumbling upon the best story
The number of failed experiments
Before accidentally finding a theory
The delicacy in a chef’s movements
Or in the dance of a warrior, as he slays enemies.
When people tell you, you were just lucky
Text them you were,
With sleepless nights and deadends
And struggling with oneself to not give up
And failing a hundred times
Before you really were lucky, just like everyone else.
Sometimes I wonder
Why people say, they’re scared of love
When it’s the memory that haunts us
And screams of a breaking heart, aching heart
Not the one filled with love, that keeps us awake all night.
And I think about the saddest lines I can write
“Love is a gamble of moments,
It’s the forgetting that lasts a lifetime”
It shows you how
The only things you’ve loved about a person
Can haunt you.
It makes you skip restaurants
And your favourite songs
Shut your favourite clothes in the closet
Avoid every remembrance
Of the only moments
You’d want to remember, if given a choice.
“Heartbreak is a gift
Only to a heart which knows love”
When you left,
I washed my old bedsheets to let go of your fragrance
Cleaned my door of your footsteps
but how do I destroy a whole universe we made?
Where Breeze is soft as your touch
my morning coffee as dark as the color of your eyes
You are the sunlight through my curtains every day
the shine of the moon, every night.
how do I clean my soul of your touch
how do I get rid of a heart which isn’t mine anymore
what do I say to my body which whispered on your touch every time
“I’m yours and you are mine”
Maybe I’ll never know how to forget you.
But all I know,
Is the next time I bare my soul before another
Before learning to love,
I’ll teach myself how to unlove.
For forgetting is a longer fall.
Remember falling on your bed after a long day
And waking up a little late?
Going to a new cafe or trying a new dish
The little excitement and rush of it?
Feeling on top of the world
By standing on your balcony and looking down at the veins of your city,
or even by scoring a perfect goal?
Perfecting playing a song on your guitar you had been trying for long;
Or accidentally finding a song which describes all your emotions you couldn’t?
Ever felt the happiness of finding a ten ruppee coin in your pocket;
Or even getting an extra paani puri?
Maybe we’re too busy trying to find happiness
To ever slow down and look around us
To ever lie beneath the starts and discover constellations
To hear birds chirping, crickets singing or admire art and artists.
When one day someone asks me what happiness is,
I wish not to sigh and regret I spent a life chasing it
Rather than feelings the essence of such moments
For the little things aren’t little
Only if we pay attention.
I want to be like the woman who writes all my poetries.
She seems brave to me.
She claims to have seized demons and monsters
Alluring, yet hard to believe.
She talks about battles and about love
And I’m scared of both the worlds,
Her anger fills me with courage and pride
Yet why do I find myself shying away
From saying anything on my mind?
She sounds passionate to me
I imagine her as being bright eyed, and steady
With a purpose, and the courage to believe she can change the world
She sounds too perfect to me.
A bit like magic, sorcery.
It seems her bones are made of something
So very different from my own
Her soul has seen the same battles as mine
And their scars she proudly adorns
And I’m still trying to stop them from hurting.
I wish I could be
As charming, powerful, valiant
I wish I could be
More like me.