A Love Poem for A Past Lover

My breath splits 

at the tip of your nose,

slips down your cheekbones, 

My gasps vanish

between the gaps in your teeth 

I recount, 

As you push your face into mine, 

And scavenge for magic in my mouth, 

how our lips locked so well yesterday

and today, 

as you wave my tongue

like it was created 

for your consumption,

your appetite bobs off my face

like a ball of oil trying to dive in water. 

I wonder

if it were my lips that changed their shape

or your intentions, 

your frenzies 

or my apprehensions? 

I wonder  

if you realize the lump in your throat 

is a lie I keep choking on, 

and that my lips 

don't belong to you

just because you have touched them 

with your lips before.

On Love

How normal
How normal Is it to love
And get back more than you give

To explain
And to digest the forgiveness

To water
And to see growth too soon

To never get to wait
To never get to hover
To never be patient
To miss too little

How painfully normal.

Too done with this

Too done with this 

The time when it all began

I had the feeling of this time being the best.

I took my first step. I ran.  

It was innocent for all I can think of. It was a zing.  

But to sum up what we had was nothing more than child's play.  

Pretty easy to say that it was a mere display                                                                                                                      Of affection,                                                                                                                                                           

something that felt good. It built my confidence. 

Ok. Alright. It was easier then.  

I was still learning. Experiencing. 

Figuring out the what, how and when.  

Very impulsively did I walk Out.  

We were friends even after that and we still talk.                                                                                                        

It's cool whatever happened.                                                                                                                                  

Friendly feelings are true now and as white as a piece of chalk. 

I am done with this 

  

Skipping ahead with all the time I had

Coping up with the new curriculum, things got tough.

Marks got bad.  

Aah those dreadful sums.  Fuck you to date.  

Two years later, got to know this girl. The sister of a mate. 

Gosh she was pretty.  

One year in and everything with you was shitty.  

It was the long distance, for God's sake why? 

The love was warm and wet and fresh The space between us got dry.  

You cheated.                                                                                                                                                                            A big WHY?                                                                                                                                                                      

Were you done? 

I had been a foolish child in one.  But never felt defeated.  

This was easier to let go.  

Get out was my gesture for you.  

Baah humbug. Never mind, I won't make the same mistake again.  

Glad, I am soo done with this

Exactly a year later.  I met another girl.  

Ohh the way she spoke and all that chitter chatter 

Was enough to make my toes curl.  

We made contact, strangely slow but fast too.  

And soon enough all smooth moves were made to woo  

Her.  

We became immensely comfortable pretty soon.  

Our affection was off the charts, our love bloomed.  

It got really hard for me to articulate how I felt and what I went through with you by my side.  

It was a better version of love. A better guide.                                                                                                           More mature with a hint of childishness.  

Of course, the things with you were light and dark 

But ain't as easy as a walk in the park.  

I'm still thirsty. I'm still not done with you.  

Exploring something new each day 

Some too much, some little and few. 

Even though you'll eventually read this Or probably won't 

These are mere raw words, a list.  

One shouldn't read much into this. Don't. 

I don't know what's next. It's been 4 years. 

With the worst and the best 

Of you. Of us. With you. 

No matter how our ends meet, I'd like you to stay...a little longer.  

As they say that our fight won't be easy. We know.                                                                                                  Love, we ought to become stronger.   

Coz even after all of this  Loyalty, understanding, commitment, and love. We can't be.                                            Each other is something we can't have.                                                                                                                              

I won't behave.  

But I might not act out 

Coz I'll be too done with this.  

                                                    - Shayan Rahman         

Half of You

Bones, mere bones.
Hollow insides,
cowering toes,
retreating hands,
mad, mad woes.
Tonight,
I make up only half of you.

Plastic bodies,
burn with a stench,
melt into the dark night,
a wistful sham,
smoke and smoke.
Half of you,
halves my body in bloom,
I wither like the unloved flowers do.

Electric and static, 

the love grows,

for Infidels who own guns, 

and their silver bullets puncture livers,

the bile of melancholia, 
spills on. 
Lover, oh lover! 
Must you always win? 

I find your teeth marks
on another's skin. 
That night, 
I slept with eyes open. 
Thinking, 
how I abhor your smiling face,
the stinking nerves of a shallow male ;
I go sick and blue, 
remembering the half truths, 
the half heart, 
the half I had of you. 

So, 

I buried half a body,
I marred it with a knife first,  
I loved like cancer cells must. 

And tonight,
all your foul parts,
the foul mouth, the foul arms,
the hands, the legs
the warm neck ;
The jugular vein of a vain man,
I shall cut.
I will not make you up.

Of Love

build me a vocabulary,

of love.

of,

a hot bath.

of,

lover’s balmy wrath.

build me a vocabulary,

of,

poetry for bad mood.

of,

beloved’s tasted food.

build me a vocabulary,

of,

linen sheets in a messy room.

of,

a young bride waiting for groom.

build me a vocabulary,

of love.

of,

sniffing beloved’s woolen glove.

a vocabulary,

pushed past love.

Somewhere

Somewhere between a Thursday and a Monday,
I stopped giggling at your compliments
and started cackling and snorting at your stories.

Somewhere between a winter and a spring,
my heart stopped racing at your touch
and you instead learned how to calm down my nerves.

Somewhere between June and September,
you stopped gazing at my lips with desire
and started deciphering them for inside jokes.

Somewhere between my birthday and our anniversary,
you stopped buying me roses and chocolates
and started buying me pens when I ran out of ink.

Somewhere between an appetizer and a dessert,

we stopped gazing into each other’s eyes
and realized how expensive everything on the menu was.

Somewhere between Eid and Diwali,
We stopped kissing each other's bruises
and started carrying Band-aids for each other.

I love you like thunderclap loves lightning

When I look at you, I feel as useless as hope after victory

Like a Revolution performing revolutions

I feel like things which are like other things

Similes are silly 

and metaphors just don't alliterate

I feel illiterate, 

dedicating words to you

And yet I document faithfully my failings

I love you like a tangent loves contact

Even if we never meet again,

I'm willing to define my existence

by that one moment

I love you like knots love wasting time

Our fingers do end up intertwined for hours

I love you more than I love inappropriate metaphors and abrupt 

endings.

and that is why we won't. 

I just know it.

(I wanted to call it Oops I did it again)

Nope. Nope. Nope.

Nopenopenopenopenope.

Nope.

Nope. Nope.

Like.

Nope. Nope. Nope.

Superlike (?!)

My thumb aches.

But just when I’m about to switch apps,

Congratulations! You have a new match.

Swipe in the direction opposite to your political orientation

Your bio reads.

But do you?

Yes. Rordan, Branderson, Neiman, Tatchett

And I ghost you

Ten years ago

I had asked someone the same question.

TolkienLewisPaoliniAsimov,

you had rattled off.

Oh, and Twilight sucks.

So I gave the frankly ponderous

LoTR a chance

That I wouldn’t otherwise have

And hated Twilight

Before I’d even cracked it open.

I had thought

If I loved the books you did

Maybe I could get you to love me too.

Five years ago

I had asked someone (different)

the same question.

Rordan-Branderson-Neiman-Tatchett.

You said you were a feminist, too

You knew your entrenched sexism

From your internalized homophobia

And you loved books.

So I believed you.

Once the clothes fell off

The books fell shut

Their permanent cracks mirroring

The temporary ones on my spine.

I was persuaded

into kissing you.

Afterwards, you read me

The first three chapters of Pride & Prejudice

So I thought

At least we had Lizzie-Darcy charades

While it lasted.

But five years on

I’ve still not touched Branderson or Rordan.

So when the Tinder boy tells me

You HAVE to read Branderson

I say sorry, but I’m a little overwhelmed

By all the Ferrantes and Pamuks

On my bookshelf.

A shelf-full of love.

Of notes.

Of love notes

Not all of which are to someone else.

You don’t recommend

your way into my life,

for I’ve changed my litmus test

By now.

I don’t ask

Which books d’you read?

But

How intersectional is your feminism?

You know everything

Except the words.

So I decide to gift you book upon book

But you’d rather re-watch FRIENDS.

One day, while you’re streaming the latest GoT

I resume swiping.

I had thought

If I could get you to love

The books that I do

Maybe I could get myself

To love you too.