[Note from Frolic: We are so excited to announce our new series of modern love poetry from the top poets on Instagram. First up is a collection from @shruteechoudhary]
Ironically, the open sky is a ravel of mysteries. Yet all we see when we look above is uninhibited vastness, which seems to us like freedom from where we stand.
And in that open space, there are a billion things unknown to us, and so unknown to themselves. Because so far, only humans have been able to decipher any meaning from the Universe and beyond. At least that’s what we like to think. But have we deciphered anything at all?
Sometimes I think, the only things that are genuine are ones that still remain inexplicable to us. Things that even our brilliant minds can not articulate with their sound logic and reasoning. Things that often leave us feeling helpless because we cannot control or define them.
I’m far from knowledgeable when it comes to physics and the comprehension of the cosmos but I am a poet, who finds inspiration in the stars. And I see there is a pattern that surrounds us, if you really look. Scientists will give it a name, mathematicians will have something else to add but to me, it’s a grand design, a piece of art and we are mere fragments of it.
Earlier today, I read about binary stars. They are two stars that are gravitationally bound together, orbiting their common center of mass; and I immediately ran out to spot them. It’s the rarest sight, impossible to see even through the most powerful telescope because from this great, great distance, they appear as one.
And suddenly to me, that phenomenon became the very definition of love.
I’m going to bed thinking that maybe, from a great, great distance, you and I look like binary stars.
my first warning sign
should’ve been that you
loathed Bukowski’s edge
I read you one of his poems
one of my favourites, a few lines
you spurned it
and just how long did it take you
to realise that the tongue I kissed with
could also slit throats
with equally remarkable passion?
I think my choices scared you
gave you a glimpse
of doomsday rubbing
its palms together
plotting the end for some
the beginning to others
if only you’d decided to stay
instead of chasing more
if only you’d watered our
own backyard together
bringing it to life
instead of running away
like a bee caught drinking
nectar, you could’ve tasted mine.
I had always been love
roughed around the edges
from the rust that came with
too many abandoning
and not enough staying.
but you couldn’t be around me
to figure it out.
It was a pull I had no control over
into someplace I was yet to discover
you were the wormhole
my wrinkle in time
one that would let me travel through universes
simply by existing
I knew this the moment
your lips marked my forehead
like the first drop from a drizzle
that I had to run
into your arms to take shelter
from the downpour that was about to hit us
I looked up to you like a flower
facing the Sun
finally blooming with warmth
and it was instant
like being struck by lightning —
the realisation that drenched me
from head to toe
one that would only grow;
that something had shifted
in my heart, to make room for you
like after rain, leaves hold dew
that the opening of your eyes would be all of my mornings
that the stupid shade of brown would have me falling.
it was a relief that washed over me
like I was finally where I was supposed to be —
/and while on my way back home
I thought about you, what a waste of a beautiful mind
a heart set on rewind
refusing to beat in the moment. what a waste of a conversation
of a rare connection
of endless laughter and smiles.
and what’s closeness if you were on the other side of a wall
was it really intimacy at all?
those goosebumps felt like barbed wires
a story lived by two liars
did it even happen?
and if it was loneliness that had led me into your arms
despite those blaring alarms
I feel even lonelier now.
but nights don’t get to sleep at night at all
my mind amuses you. the way I think, the way words tumble, fumble out of my mouth, like freshly squeezed orange juice.
my thirst for your body to be wrapped around me like that first morning after sex, in a Hollywood cliché — you are miles of plain white sheet I wear to breakfast, with messy hair and all my guards down.
then the need for me to ebb from you, because my hindsight is a cataract no ophthalmologist can cure
and the mahogany in tree branches seep through my veins, and it keeps growing darker and darker.
I’m a carmine cadaver seeking pain because there are moments
when I feel nothing, and you can sense it, can’t you?
when you touch my skin, your fingers get frostbites.
you stay wide awake with the night, watching me sleep
the hollow in my eyes neatly tucked under my eyelashes. I almost look like the crack of morning again
and you hope that I wake up warm.
About the Author:
When I’m not busy being a goofball, I like to complicate my life for a living, so I can try and uncomplicate it with words.
I like to travel and make pictures. I’m also an actor, so I’m really all about the stories.
In poetic terms,
I’m the wormhole between reality and fiction
I’m the rhyme and the contradiction.