Oct 2014
Love stories.
When the man of 56
asked a girl of 7
if she knew what love was,
she didn’t know that
she would spend
most of her life convincing herself
that love was more than
how he dug his nails
into her raw skin
only to leave it pale;
it was more than the stench
of his breathe and clothes
that she hasn’t got rid off
from her body, yet;
it was more than the sharp,
stabbing sensation between her legs
and definitely something
that needed consent.
Love stories.
You think you know what love is,
but what about that girl
who was left crying
at the subway station?
She went back home
after 3 odd days,
took an overdose of pills
she couldn’t even pronounce names of,
slit her wrists
and was found lying
in a pool of blood
after another 3 odder days.
I wonder whose life flashed
before her eyes and
where she hid all the
undelivered letters she wrote
the night before she died?
Love stories.
He shifts the pawn in a chess game,
carefully,
sitting on a wobbly bench
in a massive hospital ward.
This time, it’s his queen
that he is protecting.
Though, he could see
her last breaths fluctuating
like the black and white squares on the board,
he still tried to win.
They didn’t kiss each-other goodbye;
neither did they share laughs
nor, did they repeat their vows.
She didn’t even wait
till the last chemotherapy.
What happened to his love story?
Love stories.
I fell in love with a boy
with a storm in his heart
that wrapped me in itself,
ripped me off piece by piece,
picking on already existing wounds
and now he’s nowhere to be seen.
I hear the incessant clash
of the windows in a stormy rain,
the picture frames
tumbling,
stumbling
and shattering into a million pieces
against the floor
where I sit and bleed poetry about him
even when I know
that he doesn’t even remember my name, anymore.
Though, I Love
the way your tongue curls
at ‘L’ and your teeth presses against your lips
tenderly at ‘V’
when you say “love”,
but I am sorry,
I have grown up
in a home of fists and frowns
where love stories were more fragile
than paper towns
and I will not make eye contact with you
when I say “I love you”
because I am unsure about
how long it will last.
When the man of 56
asked a girl of 7
if she knew what love was,
she didn’t know that
she would spend
most of her life convincing herself
that love was more than
how he dug his nails
into her raw skin
only to leave it pale;
it was more than the stench
of his breathe and clothes
that she hasn’t got rid off
from her body, yet;
it was more than the sharp,
stabbing sensation between her legs
and definitely something
that needed consent.
Love stories.
You think you know what love is,
but what about that girl
who was left crying
at the subway station?
She went back home
after 3 odd days,
took an overdose of pills
she couldn’t even pronounce names of,
slit her wrists
and was found lying
in a pool of blood
after another 3 odder days.
I wonder whose life flashed
before her eyes and
where she hid all the
undelivered letters she wrote
the night before she died?
Love stories.
He shifts the pawn in a chess game,
carefully,
sitting on a wobbly bench
in a massive hospital ward.
This time, it’s his queen
that he is protecting.
Though, he could see
her last breaths fluctuating
like the black and white squares on the board,
he still tried to win.
They didn’t kiss each-other goodbye;
neither did they share laughs
nor, did they repeat their vows.
She didn’t even wait
till the last chemotherapy.
What happened to his love story?
Love stories.
I fell in love with a boy
with a storm in his heart
that wrapped me in itself,
ripped me off piece by piece,
picking on already existing wounds
and now he’s nowhere to be seen.
I hear the incessant clash
of the windows in a stormy rain,
the picture frames
tumbling,
stumbling
and shattering into a million pieces
against the floor
where I sit and bleed poetry about him
even when I know
that he doesn’t even remember my name, anymore.
Though, I Love
the way your tongue curls
at ‘L’ and your teeth presses against your lips
tenderly at ‘V’
when you say “love”,
but I am sorry,
I have grown up
in a home of fists and frowns
where love stories were more fragile
than paper towns
and I will not make eye contact with you
when I say “I love you”
because I am unsure about
how long it will last.
