An Ode To My Lover

Dear darling,
this one is an ode
to the love lost
to the world
in which I myself am lost
the world that lured us
with other fantasies
and we got sold to what seemed to be best.
But must I say that
appearances my darling,
can be a fraud
and life a witch
only revealing as much as it wants
till one day,
it’s too late.

An ode
To the love lost
to the world.
the world as a stage
on which we’ll never bow together
for our acts are different.
the world as a circus
but we will never perform together
we will walk this life
alone or worse, with someone else.

This one is an ode
For the museums we will never visit
the gardens we would never stroll
the roads we will never kiss on
the mountains we will not take on

An ode to the poems
i will not send to you
the love songs I will not
sing for you
to the nights
i will not come back home to you
the days i will not spend with you

this one is an ode to
the prayers i will not say for you
and eventually will come the days
i will not think of you
and apart we will drift
tell ourselves-
it all happened for the best.
as if beggars are choosers

My soul, darling, feels cold
Feels hollow.
Is wounded.
Is bruised.
it’s too scared to be touched
by anyone else
But you.
and the heart doesn’t trust itself-
it’s never been this unsure
for the only thing it was sure about
was you. was us.
but oh, quite a joke.

the heart, darling, is still not listening
to the silence that came
with the absence of you
it’s being silly darling-
stubborn as a child
who thinks crying will get it what it wants
but life is a strict teacher
and soon it will learn
this teacher rewards the smartest. the bravest.
heart is a slow learner, darling.

but i wonder- does it not break your heart-
to go on without me?
it looks as if it doesn’t.
It clearly, doesn’t
because you darling don’t rest till you get what you want.

but then,
why does it break mine?
does it not break your heart
to embark on this journey of life without me?
to not celebrate your victories with me
and to not have my shoulder to cry on.
if this-
none of this-
doesn’t matter to you
doesn’t render you sleepless
doesn’t make your insides twist
then i might as well
prepare for this journey alone.

this one is an ode
to the future we do not hold.

I am Not an Object

art asian butterfly color
Photo by Miguel u00c1. Padriu00f1u00e1n on Pexels.com

I am not an object

but they tell me

to become one

To polish my scars

and my Blemishes

so my edges remain sharp

untouched by age.

Like I never fell

Like I never faced

life as it is.

Like I am new as ever

waxed and furbished.

and I do.

and I attract

other objects like me.

comes a day, they sense

I am more than what they see

fragile, vulnerable and shatterable

and alas, even human.

Some stay, some lurk

but I count my blessings,

for only objects that leave.

 

 

 

Two Women

Two women sat side by side,

In an Uber halted across the road

One clad in a saree light

One donned in a business suit.

 

One cradled a newborn tot

against the warmth of her bosom soft.

One checked her phone

as swift as light

her expressions terse

her eyes bored.

One saw a figure sculpted right

draped in expensive clothes.

The other saw

the bloom of motherhood,

strength of an invincible soul.

Each wondered if an epoch had been

created or eschewed.

Invidiousness

in their insides rose.

 

One saw a selfless

labor of love

Sleepless nights of toil and work

One saw a persistent devotion,

to a hunt for identity.

to a point perceived

paramount

to be proven.

Reverence

in their hearts rose.

 

Who is finer?

Who is fine?

an absolute summation,

hard to define.

A canal of love or

A window of dreams

A picturesque view

together might yield.

 

Who mattered?

Who mattered though is

hard to say.

One raised a child

that built what they call great

then why such division

why such  deride

a difference in paths

doesn’t always mean

a difference in destination.

 

One stopped forth a glass dwelling

Other stopped forth her home

still wondering in their hearts

if an epoch

had been created or

an epoch had been eschewed.