another love poem


I'm writing love poems again,
Without really saying that I love you;
Without telling you your hair is messy,
And that I like it curled and hanging and confused,
And cut and tied and rebellious,
And that you look away too much,
When you talk to me,
So I have to stare longer
To see you see me
To see you see we,
To see you in glee;
Without ending phone calls when I have nothing to say,
Since nothing is my forte anyway,
And we need nothing, nothing else.

I'm writing love poems again,
Distracted by the distraught disarray of distance,
Recoiled back by bullets of wishes shot into the dark.
I'll explain this:
I'm staring at the ineffable sky,
Thinking, if I shoot a bullet above,
Where will it bury itself,
And who will it hurt to fulfill its purpose,
For, you see, when the War was on,
The accuracy of the bullets never mattered, no;
What mattered was where they would plant themselves,
Which life they would uproot, when they fell from the sky;
My wishes are shots I take every night,
Hoping one would get to you,
But they keep coming back to me,
Pushing me away,
Away and away and away,
Ending all endings.

another love poem
Written by Yash Raj Talan


[note to self: at the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.]

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