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Heart's library
He says it is difficult to be my distant lover because often he tip toes on his moon-light carpeted deck to gaze at the moon exactly how I write about it in my poems.
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In the intimacy of our conversations, he awaits for each of my sentences with bated breath as if I am singing him melodies of Gulzar, sometimes punctuated by him giggling at my choice of reading John Green, saying that he can't believe that we both grew up reading Enid Blyton and Franklin W Dixon, but nothing feels more beautiful to him than this. And if at that I say that beauty saves the world, he stops me from quoting Detoevsky, saying that he only wishes to listen to my language. That touch from him often gives me the sense of our beginning.
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He paused midway while reading me romantic poems by Paul Eluard to ask about those forty rules of love that Shams gave and asked how the theories on love were passed on as legacies since ages. I wiggled his sideburns telling him that if love indeed was bounded by rules, we wouldn't have been reading the letter that Franz Kafka wrote to Milena where it showed how hopeful he was that Milena would come to him if it was the last day of earth, though they had barely met in lifetime.
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Though I never wrote him a poem, he proposed to me with the same exciting subtle strangeness as that which I always find in Khalid Hosseini's stories. In a clichéd manner he went down on his knees and read me his first piece of art-
"Your voice is painfully delicate while your words are surprisingly strong, if that's how Elif Shafak described love. I remember when I was reading you the diary of Anais Nin, it said that people cannot be saved but only loved. I felt loved when you read me Ocean Vuong to make my gray days seem less breaking, I feel love when I make you coffee while you heave with the emotions Rumi's poems give you in their commas and full stops, though I never really understood them. Whatever it takes to reach the library of your heart which beats with your own poems, from sonnets of Shakespeare to verses of Sahir, I will memorize them all if only you stay for me as my in-house conversationalist to whose words I can crawl back to ? "
© Divya
.
In the intimacy of our conversations, he awaits for each of my sentences with bated breath as if I am singing him melodies of Gulzar, sometimes punctuated by him giggling at my choice of reading John Green, saying that he can't believe that we both grew up reading Enid Blyton and Franklin W Dixon, but nothing feels more beautiful to him than this. And if at that I say that beauty saves the world, he stops me from quoting Detoevsky, saying that he only wishes to listen to my language. That touch from him often gives me the sense of our beginning.
.
He paused midway while reading me romantic poems by Paul Eluard to ask about those forty rules of love that Shams gave and asked how the theories on love were passed on as legacies since ages. I wiggled his sideburns telling him that if love indeed was bounded by rules, we wouldn't have been reading the letter that Franz Kafka wrote to Milena where it showed how hopeful he was that Milena would come to him if it was the last day of earth, though they had barely met in lifetime.
.
Though I never wrote him a poem, he proposed to me with the same exciting subtle strangeness as that which I always find in Khalid Hosseini's stories. In a clichéd manner he went down on his knees and read me his first piece of art-
"Your voice is painfully delicate while your words are surprisingly strong, if that's how Elif Shafak described love. I remember when I was reading you the diary of Anais Nin, it said that people cannot be saved but only loved. I felt loved when you read me Ocean Vuong to make my gray days seem less breaking, I feel love when I make you coffee while you heave with the emotions Rumi's poems give you in their commas and full stops, though I never really understood them. Whatever it takes to reach the library of your heart which beats with your own poems, from sonnets of Shakespeare to verses of Sahir, I will memorize them all if only you stay for me as my in-house conversationalist to whose words I can crawl back to ? "
© Divya
