Painting

ये इश्क नहीं आसान ( Love is not easy…)

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It’s not Love

It’s not like I love you or anything.
Don’t get me wrong,
And don’t freak out.
It’s just not like that.
It’s just that whenever you are around
Or I talk about you,
Or even think about you
I suddenly become fifteen again.
I become the one with floral frocks, falling fast
For the first time –
Umm, In confusion (Not love, it’s not love)
It’s just that whenever my phone blinks
And your name flashes on it’s screen
Something somersaults in my tummy.
Something inside it gets really excited
When your name is mentioned
Or is even co-incidentally scribbled somewhere.
But don’t get me wrong.
It’s absolutely nothing romantic.
Maybe it’s just hunger you know; in the tummy.
A hunger for your awkward and slightly slanted smile,
The one that squints your tiny eyes almost completely.
It’s really adorable.
But wait, I don’t adore YOU per se.
It’s really just that smile.
Well sometimes the crooked nose as well.
But that’s just general.
Nothing deep.
I don’t want you to misunderstand so I’m making it crystal clear
Its nothing like one sees in cheesy movies
Or reads in corny novels.
Not at all.
It’s just that mostly I don’t feel normal when your fingers brush my skin.
But wait again
I think I have medical issues regarding pulse rate and breathing in that case.
So
It’s not you.
Don’t get me wrong.
It’s certainly not love for you.
I know that for sure.
But I do love your red tie.
It does something to me,
Something that would ruin the innocence of this poem.
You should have it checked though.
It’s a little hypnotic.
It’s not like I care about you madly,
I care ofcourse, but not insanely.
But yes, when someone hurts you
Scenes of all my favourite serial killer documentaries flash in my mind.
And when some girl you like doesn’t like you back
Leaving you heartbroken;
I want to shake her existence and ask her
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
That sorta thing.
But not love.
Nope.
I don’t know if you notice but you say my name differently
When I’m sad
Or drunk.
Yeah.
You kind-of pour all the care in that tone itself
And everything becomes just fine.
But that can be imagination.
Because of drinking you see.
Not love.
So you know
It’s just not what you might think it to be.
But I cannot deny,
Your silly jokes are quite loveable.
Though wrongly timed,
They still do the trick.
Trick to what?
Not the one that makes me fall for you. No.
The trick to just make someone laugh.
Gosh, the misinterpretations.
Do you understand me now?
Its not affection there,
No romantic feelings.
It’s just that I feel fifteen
And end up writing
Teenage “Love” poems at twenty two.
Oh Crap!
Not Love