I wonder what happens when

The light hugs the darkness

And the smile kisses the tears

Who melts into whom?

Does the darkness grow lighter

Does the light become dark?

Does the smile turn away the tears?

Or do the tears leave a mark?

And what happens when a person is in love

And the other is not quite so

Who decides whether it’ll reach an end?

Or it’ll be love forever for both?

I don’t see how these things mix

When opposites come to interact

From different ends of the city

And from far away points in the mind

To bring to each other

What the other has never seen

And become for each other

What they have otherwise never been.

Painting

I have the perfect painting in my hand

With all the right strokes, from all the correct angles

The figures are beautifully made

And the shades are just right

The paints mix in the ideal way

And it’s neither too dark nor too bright,

I love it when I look at it

I miss it when I look away,

My perfect painting

Then you come along

You show me how one stroke is wrong

And how I missed an angle by 5 degrees

That figure has a hand too big, and that nose doesn't look too real

How a pink would have been better than red there

And how it’s a little lighter than it should be

And I know you are right

It is not perfect

But I would have loved you more

If you would have just let it be.

The worst taste in the world

is not of curry with too much salt

Or of coffee with no sugar

Not of a chocolate

when you eat it

an year after it’s expiry

Or of your chicken when it is undercooked

The worst taste isn’t of a bitter vegetable

that was churned and churned

to get a bright green juice

to heal your upset stomach

The worst taste is

of anger

as you swallow it deep down

Where it stays

longer than

you want it to

And of its little pieces

that stay in your mouth

with a taste that lingers

just to torture you.

Sitting on a bean bag

placed on my balcony

With the sound of my favorite music

playing in the background

And my annoying little brother

trying to correct every single word I write.

But still I write.

Because from where I’m looking

the building right in front of me

is as tall as my hand

And the person

walking on the road

is not even one finger tall

So I sit

and measure everything

from where I’m seated

The trees, the cars

And I try to look at tiny little smiles

But people are just too damn far

And I think of other places

where I can see the world

through such different eyes

Wondering

why I don’t go there

more often.

I want to write a poem on wet mud

Not flowers, or love, or how I feel

But just on plain wet mud

Because to my eyes it reminds

Of the delicious color

Of my favorite chocolate

And to my nose, the favoritist smell in the world

A scent that gives

Such immense, such intense joy

To my mind it brings back memories

Of rainy days

And of those childhood times well spent

Wrapped in mud

Dancing and laughing

It reminds me of the earth

Where everything comes from

And will go one day

Wet mud

Because when I take it in my hand

It can become anything I want

A snake, a pot, a clown

Wet mud

And how it gives life

To all the beautiful trees I love

And I realize

That I have stared at the sky too often

And too long

looking at the stars

And thinking of places where I don’t belong

And now

I stare at this mud

And I know it’s there

I can touch it, feel it, smell it, see it

And as I touch and smell and see

I somehow become

Closer to me.

I hold a record for falling in love

With people

Whom I’ve never looked in the eye

And being so far away from them

That we never even shared

The same air

And because I never knew them as people

I dug as much as I could from afar

For more things about them

That I could love with all my heart

But more often than not

I just fell for a piece of them

Just one single part

Like the guy I loved because I loved his voice

And the jingle in his laugh

The way all words sounded

So much more beautiful

As they came out of his lips

And so it didn’t matter to me what he said

Because I was already in a daze

I loved another two or three

For the thoughts they had

The way their words would rhyme as they spoke

Like every sentence shared its heart with the other

And like words got a whole new meaning

And I was but a student

Trying to learn their magical art

I hold a record for falling in love

With people

So deeply and with all my heart

But loving none except a single part

A soothing voice, a magical soul

But never a person, never a whole

I just know how to love just one part

Maybe that is why I know of love

Only from afar.