Love letter # 392

You will see me playing it cool, doing the right thing – being adult about it. You will notice that I leave early. That I no longer call. That I smile and nod on cue.

I understand the act that is required of me. I even agree with the reasons for it. Even if arguing the point was useful – which it so obviously is not – I would keep my counsel. I have given up on you. Bowed to the facts. Officially.

But that’s me pretending. Because tonight – like last night and most probably tomorrow – I conjure the possibility of your nearness. Sometimes I kiss you in these pointless dreams. And you always smile. Your eyes full of light. And there is an ocean of love around us and we are free.

But yeah, like I said – pretending.

So now, just in case you think I don’t mean it, even these words will fall silent. Though not yet this longing.


I Am The Silk Road

I am the Silk Road.

I am the yin and the yang.

I live in the air between cloud and ground.

I am the beautiful rain.

Lover of flowers,

Seeder of dreams,

Maker of seas.

I come from the space between night and day,

Where there is no East – and there is no West.

I ride to the place where the rivers meet.

I drink at the well of a thousand years.

In my blood the ghosts are dealing.

In my heart the gold they trade.

And in my eyes the things they saw,

And with my hands the things they made.

I am the song of every singer,

The child of every home.

I live in every village

Breaking bread with every soul.

There is no love I shall not know

On this journey by your side,

For there is no you and there is no I –

Because we are together

And we are the silk road.

Love letter # 363

When the rushing and the distractions are over for the day and I have no resistance to the thought of you, then I am reminded. Of the beautiful fragility you evoke. Of that thing in my heart which needs no explaining and cannot be explained away.

I can hold you at bay in the daylight hours but when I am alone with myself in the night you are just a stray wish away. You are the dream of tenderness. The promise of harbour. The deep and primitive yearning for connection.

Sure I can live without you. In fact, I could never you see you again and still survive. But then, in the sable embrace of night, I conjure your arms and know without doubt that I would rather have you by my side than be right or proud or strong.

Wisdom is a largely toothless tiger and enlightenment most often a pleasant and passing mood. Much deeper rivers run inside us, busting every dam that we build. There is one such current in my wires right now, fizzing with the charge of your name. The sweet, soft light of another quiet night.

Love letter # 481

If once I hoped that time and distance would quell the fire – now I understand how spectacularly those gambits have failed. Seeing you again. So near. So fucking far away. What I felt to be true – still true. Beating steady. Counting time. Measuring the distance between dread and desire. For you sit opposite me now. Polite space observed. The quiet diplomacy of not touching. A candle burning down untended. Little flame sputtering. A swirl of smoke. A dissipation. And in the mad vermillion sky of my wanting – the wonderful flood of monsoon rain. Preparing to wash everything away.

Love letter # 509

The memory of you is all the proof I need. We both know it didn’t turn out ideally for us – things in the way, human frailties, etc – but there is one thing I will never forget. The connection we had. That almost magical, mystical recognition. Like a permission to be. Whatever the gritty, besmirching details were, they are but specks on the lens; and in the right light I can see right through them. As I do now. So that instead of regret I walk in the grace of your continuous beauty. For which I can never thank you enough.