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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
 

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