I didn’t want to think about her
yet here I am, in the embrace of what could have been.
we were shooting stars and the stardust all together
We were always in each other yet never together,
we were the continuum of the universe and
we never came close in the fear of crumbling apart.
Bet that dingy old room still smells the same,
with windows tainted with more than one colour
and the old chestnut tree whispering sweet-nothings
while brushing its lullaby against the balcony.
I once kissed her when the winds were in our favour,
or was it nothing but a dream?
Bet the sweet Gin remembers
even if it was a dream
I swear I could trace her tip-toeing
when I was stuck in the roundabout
looking for the bridge, our bridge.
I wonder if she looks for it too.
Bet it was trouble for her too
to stand there surrounded by lilies,
or were they lilacs? Anyway,
It ached me so hard when I stood there
surrounded by lilies/lilacs
and not dance with her ghosts,
and not kiss away her demons,
It was the perfect mood, but not the time for us.
Bet Gin never woke up from our dream
because how could she when neither have I,
from the yearning, from the itch to write down her name
on every wall of every dingy room out there.
From the burning ache to figure out her coyness
and to scribble out our aesthetic poem on her every breath,
her every molecule, I wished to turn her inside out to touch
But I didn’t, almost.
I didn’t want to think about her,
But here I am, speaking in old lyrics
of the dingy room hauntings, whispering chestnut tree,
the lilies and the lilacs
and the bridge I never got to find
and the love I never got to make
and the woman who was mine but never mine to take
I wish we were not stardust but humans
who could love without a noose around the collarbones
and wildfire on the lips,
ready to burn them away.
Artwork (a digital painting) by Nipun Bhalla.
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