right at the beginning, it seemed
perfectly natural in that light.
with your wine-breath on my skin,
i wondered of the likelihood that
staying is perhaps not so difficult,
that my withered skin could regrow.
it’s been a year since i have dared
to think of love or its urgent utility.
it’s been two decades, only it did be-
-come a compulsion to be caressed
after the teenage-thunderstorm
of desires and obtuse obsessions.
you saw it through and still turned
it empty, whipping my senses into
(dis)belief. at my breaking point,
all that i had to do began&ended
without due rancour or reason.
i cannot begin to trust or bequeath
my faith to another, i do not need
to languish in the arms of dead love.
it’s done&dusted, dusted&done,
after having cut open a chest with
its gum residue and dried blood.
.
© Anmol Arora
Day 12
(Inter)National Poetry Month
HA's Place 
“with your wine-breath on my skin, i wondered of the likelihood that staying is perhaps not so difficult,” this is incredibly raw and poignant in its portrayal of love, longing, ache and craving, Anmol! 💜 I am bowled over by the language and use of imagery. I believe trust and mutual understanding is very important in a relationship, for without it love is akin to walking on a path of thorns .. and it hurts to learn that the person you were with only brought half of himself to the table.
Arz kiya hai …
“Bandagi hum ne chhor di hai ‘faraz,’
kya karain log jab ḳhuda ho jayen.”
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So beautiful, so visceral.
And it’s wonderful to see you here, too, my friend. ❤
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Languish in the arms of a dead love. A fate worse than death itself. There is much to be said for life without love, like languishing in the arms of loneliness? Love this.
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This is too good! I loved it!
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