Love is not a one-way street.
It is not your trip to the mountains
or a holiday in a beachside resort.
Love is not that summer
you spent chilling in your shorts.
Love is the journey back home
to the street long forgotten
to the house,
with an unkempt garden,
a windowpane that broke
last monsoon,
and plumbing that needs
to be taken care of.
*****
(I can’t write about love anymore, that too a poem, so damn difficult. But here is an attempt. These lines came to my mind in a flash and I spent two days in refining them, adding something more, but I am giving up now. This is what it originally was, and I can’t add anything to it. Sometimes you just have to let it go, even in love. )
PSEUDOMONAZ 