By Charu Chandwani
There’s something about second innings at love.
With the same person.
It is like sticking back shreds of paper together
for the font of your heart to be legible to you
and to him.
It is like erasing the scribbles on your
favourite book to make space for
sweet nothings and love letters that
write themselves on every page.
It is like counting goosebumps on
Your back when you hold hands
after a year. Painstaking.
It is like letting a wave hit you, bend your
knees and unroot your feet from your
sand of “NOT AGAIN, NOT HIM”.
It is like waiting for a bamboo to
shoot up, taking it’s own sweet long long
time before you grow tired of
being guarded and let the love be its
monstrous best .
It comes as slowly as the first one
but when it arrives, you are alerted
as the news channels blare about
the hurricane inside of your heart.
It topples your fears and anxieties
with a heartbeat like a hurricane
topples cars. Crushing to powder
the skeleton of your inhibitions.
But it has it’s soft moments of love
notes being slipped into the bottom
Right pocket of your black leather jacket.
Of chasing intertwining of fingers like
in libraries, parties, movie halls,
bus stops, camps, bonfires by the
This love has a lot more maturity to be young,
after all who at all decides the age of
One day you are giggling like a child
as you sit on thermocol balls.
The other I send you away with a
heavy heart because family comes
One night I don’t let you
sleep because my fingers want
to piano key your back and
harmonize our love for the
watchmen and owls to wonder.
The other you rock me to
sleep as I snore away tired
From all the 58 side
professions I’ve worked
in my day dreams.
This love believes in hope
even though the world spins
on tentative goodbyes.