She loves me… she loves me not…

I sit near the lake
And wait for her to come
Rushing through the fields
Like I knew all lovers to do.
Dhoondtha hoon tujhe har raah mein har mehfil mein
Thakk gaye hain, mere majboor-e-tamanna ke kadam.

But I still wait for the tall stalks to part.
Maybe.

I walk through streets
Alongside dog and cattle
And look up at the grilled window
Hoping that she would be standing there.
Even an outline would do
Of a fluttering skirt left to dry
On the chord tied to a rod of the grill.
Ghar se nikalte hi, kuch dur chalte hi, raste main hai uska ghar,
Kal subah dekha to baal banati vo, khidki main aayi nazar

Is that her?
Maybe.

I pick a flower – she likes orange
And I twirl it around my fingers
Would she wear it in her hair
Or pin it atop her breast
That soft mound of a hundred kisses?
Would she press it between sheets
Of her heaviest book to show
Little children who ask the old lady:
“Did you, granny, have a lover?”
“Ek din aap yoon, humko mil jaayenge
Phool hi phool raahon mein khil jaayenge
Maine socha na tha…

That I had had a lover who brought me flowers”?
Maybe.

I shall light some lamps
And turn off the power
To see her, and her shadow
Walk carefully between the flames
Towards one burning deep within.
Would she stop to smile?
Would she hold my face in her hands?
Would she… you know?
Soppanathil ippadi thaan eppovume vandhu nippa
Solla ponaal paerazhagi sokku thangam pola iruppa
Vatthi kutchi illamale kaadhal thiya pattha veppa.

Maybe.

I get up and shake my head
Maybe I’ll go home tonight
And she will be there
Waiting for me
A bed of roses and dim lights
Or maybe it will just be
Another night of a crumpled bed
And no lights (bill is due).
Maybe she paints her canvas
With such dreams
And then another of fervid gropes
And panting tongues.
Zindagi khwaab hai, khwaab mein jhoot kya
Aur bhala sach hai kya.

Maybe tomorrow she will come.
Maybe.

Dil ke armaan

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4 thoughts on “She loves me… she loves me not…

  1. Been unnaturally busy here in this blog, haven’t you? Unlike me, who has been extremely busy in a sloth of no blogging/commenting at all.Have to catch up with all the innumerable posts that you have published here since I last visited this exalted blog…Let me start here –# The style is unique, maybe even Virginia Woolfish, with real consciousness jumping from this to that to many things else in a connection that is subtle and known only to the conscious person. Nice.# As a whole, strangely enough, I find the poem lacking the refinement that always is a given in your writings.# But that stanza that starts with ‘ I pick a flower…’ has a lovely intriguing and natural thought to it.#The following lines are brilliant and beautiful, and truly Shakespearean in their genius. Keep it up!‘…That soft mound of a hundred kisses…’,‘…See her, and her shadowWalk carefully between the flamesTowards one burning deep within…’#All in all, it is ok, and in parts better than that 🙂

  2. Dear P,Aaah! Her Majesty returns! I was afraid you had lost interest in this blog and had hence gone elsewhere… Glad you found the poem the way you did. I definitely had to write something (now that V-day is round the corner) and after what I wrote last time (or the year before that) I thought I should be less “cynical”!! 😉 Glad you liked those lines. Once again, welcome back to this blog.

  3. Dear A, Saccharine indeed but what else could I give? Either this or < HREF="http://inagardencalledlife.blogspot.com/2007/02/business-of-love.html" REL="nofollow">this<>!! 😉 I am sure you would prefer saccharine to sarcasm! 😉 (though nothing like sugar-coated sarcasm especially when the person in front doesn’t get a clue). Hope you and your heart had a wonderful V-day.

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