#valentinesweek
every night
i end up writing something about you-
the way your lips moved along with mine
to voice our poetries together
the way your hands slipped around my waist
to lead me through a slow dance
the way your eyes twinkled into mine
to make me want to write something about them;
about you-
i don’t want to write about you.
i’m done with making you the ink
of every phrase i scribble
of letting you be the canvas of
my artwork
it’s like
this poem isn’t mine anymore
it belongs to you
you are the words in it
and, you are it’s heart;
our heart,
It calls for you
because, i’m too scared to do it
on my own-
call for you.
i can’t let you have more pieces of me
than you already do
even though it’s me
who’s still holding onto
your memories
your touch
your voice
your clothes
your scent
you.
here
here is the only place
i have you for me
it’s like the world goes in a blur
and, it’s just you
me
and us
holding onto each other
grasping
clutching
not letting go.
but, it’s just me
who’s hugging
my memories of you
grasping, clutching-
not letting go.
the pen slips my grip
your warmth escapes me
i did it again.
i wrote about you.
again.
and like every other night
tonight
I end up writing about you-
but i don’t want to.
i don’t want your hugs anymore
-Manasvi.
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 1:38 PM UTC
one red
one white
and one pink,
i picked up three shades of love
along the way home today.
today
eight am
you ask me to be early back home,
something about an unofficial
seventy-sixth date you had planned
two five pm
you call me to check
whether i’d had my lunch or not
and whether amidst all the work
i’d managed to forget about later today
in all honesty, it did slip my mind
but i told you no
four thirty one pm
twenty missed calls,
and eleven texts from you.
‘hey, you on your way?’
i don’t respond
five six pm
i leave my work station
and call you back, finally
you don’t answer
i messed up,
i know.
five fifty three pm
on my way
i pass cafes
and couples
holding hands
kissing
celebrating
...smiling
being everything we used to be
stop
stop
s t o p
a small boy comes up to my window
and offers me flowers
‘a rose for your lady?’
even though
it may not seem like it
i’m still here
for you
for me
for us
and i know, you are too
in the sticky notes on my lunch box
in the small smiles into my kisses
in the wordless i love yous.
you’re here too.
i smile
And take three
one for you
one for me,
and, one for us
i’m in love with you
i’m thinking of you.
i’m thankful for you.
one red
one white
and one pink
i picked up three
shades of love along
the way home today.
for you.
Roses.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 11:37 PM UTC
He gave me a rose on rose day,
that shrieks of love.
An ethereal blood red rose,
that made her smile.
An ordinary move,
that shows nature's art.
The queen of buds,
that ordinance the heart.
A valiant floret,
of mystique romance.
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC