Netted butterflies

 

Melting with delight,

Tickled by the blush of youth,

The air sweet with wildflower scent,

Adolescence rushing to the peak

to quench the thirst of all curiosities,

And awaits there

the trapper of butterflies—love,

With its beautifully designed, silky net,

To catch lovely colors on the wings,

To see them flapping

for the agony and ecstasy of

loving and being loved.

 

What else are we when in love,

if not netted butterflies?

We love getting netted

in the silk threads

of that sweet bondage,

We just pine to be caught

with emotions all fiery and hot,

Aah, the cupid’s high scoring, slaying shot!

Self-charity

 

Be a stony support to someone

and that person naturally becomes

a velvety cushion support to you,

Because when you give support,

you receive the same as well,

A kindly giving

is a subtle taking in a nobler form,

Giving a hand to the fallen

is a loving means to

avoid falling yourself,

Words of sympathy for someone

are a prayer for your own benefit,

To be there for someone in need

is to invest in your own safety

against similar challenges in your journey,

Good or bad,

what we do to others

is primarily looping back to us

in the same form without camouflage.

 

In the same vein,

being friendly to a lovely soul

is to befriend one’s best version.

Welcoming the self into a cage

 

The immensity of the free skies,

its vastness,

its endless vistas of freedom

get us scared,

We soak in the freedom initially,

Then we fear we’ll be lost,

We feel lonely in the free vastness,

The adventure dies,

Pursued by our own fears,

we rush into a cage,

Its known confines

guarding us against the unknown,

We drop the anchor,

We get chained

to a smile, a kiss, an embrace,--

a sweet entanglement;

a pleasant bondage called ‘love’.

Bulldozer scrunching over soft buds

 

You meant it to be the past,

It’s not supposed to

collide with my present,

The crunching tyres

of the big armored vehicle

(raising sands of guilt, anger and embarrassment)

shouldn't ram into my present’s lurching cart,

But they do,

Seems like you remotely

operate this rampager

to take further revenge

and turn the past into

a grotesque wreckage.

The rusted padlock

 

The heavy, rusted padlock,

Its key missing,

Hanging on an old massive door

of a dark chamber,

Hiding an ever-shut, secretive vault,

Spooky.

 

Once it was a golden kiss-lock,

Would snap open with spring,

Would snap down

and close upon the previous season.

 

And before that

it was all open,

No lock,

Just an open secret of love.

Eclipse on the path

 

Love holds you in grasp;

in tight fist,

Entwining your destinies

for a paired chemistry,

That intimacy, familiarity, closeness,

The shared identity;

the overlapping zone,

Two molten selves

lovingly creeping into each other,

Sweet superimposition,

Tingling eclipsing of one by the other,--

alternating eclipses,

Her covering her

and she him.

 

But very rarely we are

two bodies moving in the same direction,

Like celestial bodies,

we cross paths from different directions,

Eclipse and pass across each other,

Then we drift away,

The shared zone keeps decreasing,

Moving away like strangers,

As if there was no acquaintance,--

a build-up of eternal estrangement.

Walking in the love-lane

 

The sweeping love-spools,

almost to the extent of being crazy,

A rush of positive chemicals they say,

But what a powerful natural intoxication!

The days get colored in new light,

You feel more alive than you remember,

A convalescence from past pains,

A reimbursement for the losses,

An empowerment against all maladies,

You feel lucky

to sleep-walk in the love-lane,

It helps you dreamily float

above and beyond

the concrete puzzles of life.

Betrayal

 

Why couldn’t I love you enough

to keep the joy that you once felt

on my touch?

Why couldn’t I keep

that shine in your eyes,

which sparkled at my sight?

Why couldn’t I keep

your dream in being love going

as you walked, talked in daylight?

Why couldn’t I keep nourishing

that smile on your lips in my company?

The failure to do so

is maybe a betrayal,

It’s better to accept one’s failure,

It clears at least one dark spot

from your conscience,

And in doing so,

you let her go

with her reputation intact,

In any case, you are sad,

Adding culpability to it

would lessen bitterness, I think.

Stormy addiction

 

It’s a sea of all-consuming indulgence,

A vast, pleasure pool,

And like a little cork piece

you bob on its turbulent waves,

You get heaved, bashed, thrown in air,

You gasp for breath with excitement,

But storms can’t last forever,

They have to stop and die,

Then you float lifelessly,

You pine for that high, that kick,

You feel life has drained out,

To be kicked by the storms of love

is what you view as being alive.

The storm-chaser

 

Love crushes you,

Consumes you,

It feasts upon you,

Dances on your head in wild revelry,

You become a stage

for its foot-tapping partying,

Its heels stomp on your chest,

Thump, Thump, Thump,

Your heart beats to its tunes,

Your soul sings to its composition,

Your eyes see its colors,

Your nose smells its fragrance,

Your fingers touch its curves,

Your tongue tastes its nectar.

 

It’s almost like a possessing entity,

Something that descends upon you,

Shaping you at its whims and fancies,

It’s not you,

It’s above and beyond you,

You realize it when it drops its spell,

leaving you like a garden

lynched on a storm’s path.

 

It’s a tasty addiction,

You are deshaped and deflated

once it abandons you,

You then hanker after the same shape,

You become a storm-chaser,

You run after another storm

to be jostled, pushed, pulled, ruffled,

Hoping you will get a fresh shape,

you allow yourself

to be hammered on the anvil.