Our love doesn’t need
the proof of smiling photographs,
Captured as selfies
in front of exotic places,
posted for the consumption
and validation of strangers online.
It beats as a tide,
Certain, and relentless.
When thunder breaks the sky open,
You pull me closer in your sleep,
Your arm finding my waist.
“Don’t worry,” you murmur,
Half-dream, half-promise,
And the storm forgets its purpose.
After the child is finally asleep,
the house exhales.
In the dim light, our skins speak,
fluent in love and passion.
There’s no rush,
just the soft exchange of I’m here;
and I see you.
What I love most
Is how we loosen our grip,
And let each other step out
Unchaperoned by doubt.
We grow our circles, and branches,
yet the roots below us
entwined like mating serpents.
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
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