The Poetess & A Fool

She said she loved him because he was symbolical to a line that stretched to infinity from both sides of her life.

“A line does always start from a point”, she said. “… And then, it rolls on to places unknown on the opposite directions – to an ultimate unending. You’re just like that.”

“Well, that’s fine”, he replied “but I still don’t get why you love me. I mean, shouldn’t you rather fall in love with a line?”

“Actually, I had. There was a time when I loved the line passionately. But then, I came to realize that what I was really looking for in the line was some property in a man I could possibly fall in love with. And I kept searching until I found you.”

“So, you wouldn’t have loved me if I wasn’t … ummm… like a line?”

“O, what a foolish question. You couldn’t have been anything but a replica of the line. It’s your essence. I’d always love you.”

And for the first time, he felt sad that she loved him.

Songs of Exhaustion

She transposed herself into darkness, every night.

Hid behind it, somewhere.

Behind the shadow of something.

The trees, the houses, the earths.

I went out with a torch.

Illumined every part of those.

Hunting the haunted.

I came back, exhausted.

Every night.

Within the night.

Without her.

With a realization.

She had deep, dark eyes.