I thought Love would be all the things the Poets said:
Sunlight on the Face, red roses on the Bed.
It came in with Grandeur accompanied by Hope
Who my last love left behind, after he eloped.
After him, it seemed sane to give up and turn away,
But Love always seems to come with the intention to stay . . .
[Or so I thought in the vaguest of fantasies –
Dreaming of a Love carved with brilliant fancies]:
He would do this and He would be that;
He would say this and He would feel that;
He would cherish and care a hell of a lot;
He would protect and – you know, all that rot.
He came and He loved in a manner not Mine
And I have grown enough to give up on Time.
I love him, too,
But one thing is true:
The Love is never your Love,
When it happens for you.
I looked around once when I was alone
And found you, wearing black and a soft smile
And we were caught in different time zones
And destiny let us meet for a while.
As time passed, Rahul, I grew to know you,
And in your number of friends I was one
And I remember how we got close too
Because of dancing and that party fun.
But apart from all this, I wish to say,
Despite all the boasts of men and strife,
Our friendship seems to have come to stay,
‘Specially in the online and night life.
So here’s to a sweet, funny friend like you
Who was and will be in times, old or new.
I remember many a thing
That a special moment to the mind can bring:
I remember our Childhood –
Can we forget it? (Oh, as if we could!)
I remember the orange horizons and purple clouds,
The Garden with the butterfly crowds;
I remember a sassy little tomboy
And those small memorable moments of joy;
I remember that blue pretty dress
And you seated in the divan in a flare;
I remember those scholastic times of stress,
With you in tartan red and oily hair;
I remember those tube-lit journeys,
Of valiant Rescues and rural Journeys;
I remember the coterie of friends
And you tagging along at the deep end;
I remember jealousy, too, and fights,
But then there were always ‘Xmas lights.
I remember a Nanny’s favouritism,
But that made up for my criticism.
I remember you turning overnight,
From gauche darkness to vain delight;
I remember hours of reading and listening
And a sharing of likes and mutual feeling;
I remember so many things in this life,
But, through all the joy and the strife,
I remember you always being there –
And although I don’t mention it, I care;
And although I don’t say it (nor do you),
I love you as much as you love me, too.