Love for You

My love for you

Is not red

Or pink

Or purple.

It is the color

Of the wind,

Of fear

And these words.

My love for you

Is not the sweet melody

Of a lonely magpie

Or the endless chatter

Of common demalichchas.

It is the honk of a tuk-tuk.

The whistle of Udarata Manike.

The sound of a string-less violin

Playing hard rock. Or jazz.

My love for you

Is not the reviving fresh-earth smell.

Or the delicate fragrance

Of a baby’s milky breath.

It is the stench of garlic.

And onion – as you peel each layer off.

Clinging to your fingers.

And to your very being.

My love for you

Is not a thorny Rose-

Drawing blood;

Or a trimmed one –

Unnaturally dainty.

It is a valley of Nidikumba

That blooms among prickles

And itches. When you touch.

My love for you

Is a witch’s blessing.

My love for you

Is a fairy’s curse.

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