By Brinda Sarma
What is love?
A red rose on Rose Day or is it a spectacular date planned on Valentine's Day ?
Is it falling asleep in each others arms at night and kissing each other morning at the break of dawn?
Love ... An abstraction solidified by humans aeons ago.
Cupid, Aphrodite, Venus, Kamadeva.
Name assigned, intangible emotions defined.
Are these temporal images all there is to love?
Love. One syllable .
As common a word, as butter is to toast
As universal word, as the sun is to our solar system.
But as complicated a concept, as metaphysics to an ant.
So many adjectives attached to it, it possesses many epithets.
Romantic, platonic, spurned, forbidden.
Forbidden, a word dipped in mystery
Forbidden, a word whispered by lonesome shadows
Forbidden,a word when found, a curse.
To me, love is forbidden.
To me, love is silently tracing her name in the shadowy corners of my mind because my pen cannot afford to loop those letters across these fragile pages.
To me, love is silence.
It is the feeling of warm breeze brushing against my cracked lips because hers can't... ever.
To me, love is my thigh touching hers underneath the table our skins longing to imbibe themselves in each others pores but no, Anya NO... it is forbidden.
So our hearts sigh beneath our muscle-bound flesh.
To me, love is shivering underneath the bed covers as her sermons of love rush into my ears, into my very brain through the headphones overwhelming my senses entirely, unequivocally, until all thought is gone except her name, oh my goddess golden, it is her name I sing, her name that my body vibrates to ; my personal deity, she is my religion!
My fingers dig deep into me, as I offer up my prayers to her splendour, as chaste a woman as a woman in love can be...
And she answers them, merciful goddess oh praise her, praise me! She is answers them; images of her slender fingers replace mine inspecting every inch of my core, purifying my being to the depths of my soul.
To me, love is a conundrum; feeble in its impression but innate, burning deep into my retina unknown to others.
To me love is Anya and her silhouette, stolen
It resides in my heart.