Is it love of a decadent kind?

The fact

that deep down within me

is a desire to be a philosopher

doesn’t go down so well

with what I feel

as down and out human

and I am in that mold

now as I stop for a while

and think of her

She makes me appear

as a lover when we cuddle up our emotions

together

and in the hazy shades of the day

when she needs to drowse the fires

of her insecurities

I become her mother

I don’t think I interchange

the roles by choice

every moment is undisclosed

and beautiful even though chaotic

When I dream of her

we lose our inhibitions

in the wildest of ways

in the morning when I talk to her,

I become her friend, again

And, I do not touch her

but we bare our soul,

as naked as it can be

and just after that emulsification of minds

I become her soul-mate

never to be apart

in a non-worldly sense

Surely

there is an attraction

Sometimes sublime and immaculate

sometimes too boldly honest

Sometimes a sinful construct

When I am done donning all roles

I am trolled

as a mentor and a teacher

but I don’t argue

as every role

gets me entwined

in this all exquisite

trajectory of being together

In all these nuanced feelings,

I am always wondering though

if this is something metaphysical,

an exclusive delusion or

is it love

of a decadent kind?

(c) Sandeep Kulshrestha