• Rahul Mahesh

INCOMPLETE AND INCAPABLE

Those arms cut the air in animated talks,

Of the ethereal made of dreams and fantasies.

Of a world that seemed impossible to exist,

Just as the passion we shared, unadorned.

The world seems to converge,

In moments of pure joy such as these.

Unmindful of the circumstances,

We’d kiss under sprawling yew trees.

I’d watch as you stood by the canvas,

A paintbrush in hand, pencil holding up your hair.

Devoted moments of unspoken and undisturbed silences we’d share,

Our lips remained sealed and quiet as our eyes made conversations plenty.

For all I knew and all I saw was you,

What is to love-but to live in love blindly?

Unquestioning of any reciprocation,

Free from the throes of expectations.

Flowers in hand I walked home,

One day, on a cold yet sunny winter dusk.

The easel left wet, the canvas incomplete;

The room was empty save the momentary pleasures of a temporary love.

In a daze I sat alone that night,

The room smelt like these flowers of nostalgia.

My heart hath taken shelter in the crevices of my chest,

As I folded my arms around me, silencing my loneliness.

Ever so casually my heart was broken,

Yet ever so casually I made love to another man.

Featured Image: https://in.pinterest.com/pin/463237511643609106/

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