Out of the whirlpool

 

The more he came to know,

the more he realized

how little he knew her,

It was all there to see now,

Her pointless rambling pride,

Concisely pointed narcissism,

Habitually despondent demeanor,

Her efficient effrontery,

Swift certain selfishness,

Extensively ornamented body

covering a poor soul,

Her manners laced with

coquetries and jealousies,

All this he saw now.

 

Earlier, the whirlpool’s vortex

sucking, pulling him into

soft languor and pleasure swoons,

Shaken, swirled by the eddying currents

now he got spewed out of

the vortex’s pointed base,

Gasping for breath,

he came to the surface

from the edifying depths,

Looked at her with a

frigidly disagreeing look on his face.

 

Falling out of love is perhaps

just to know more about a person,

Maybe we are addicted to the fall,

And fly just for its sake,

Because, however high a kite flies,

it still survives by constantly eyeing earth,

Maybe love also flies

to enjoy its habitual crash-landing.