Poetic Stories

Twenty years ago on a windy night,
We got married. We are still together.
We still go to the movies, like we used to.
We still make love, like we used to.
We have no children, like we used to.
But we are still together, like we used to.

She says, “You don’t love like the old days.”
We were wild lovers, hiding from parents
Every night of every Thursday and Saturday
We met behind the crumbling garage.
Oh! How well you loved me those days.
God! How well did I loved you those nights.

We still make love, but it seems a ritual.
We are like two sick persons taking pills
A necessary but not so savory dish.
We don’t meet on wild days and nights.
We sleep and rest and work on those days and nights
The bond we shared seems to be fleeting away.

Do I still love her? I am not sure.
But I know every night I come from work
She waits with our food still on the table.
She knows that I have eaten outside.
Still she waits each night. Every night.
How can I say she doesn’t love me like before?

Do I still love her? I am not sure of that.
But every morning when she goes to school
Where she teaches Physics to the kids
I make tea and butter toast for her.
Sometimes it is French-toast or cornflakes.
Sometimes when she is in a hurry
I run behind her with the plate in hand.
She upsets her stomach easily if it’s empty.
Maybe that’s why I run after her those days?

Do I still love her? I don’t know for sure.
But when I got sick on a Friday last month
She didn’t get a leave. So she skipped.
It was not adventurous like it used to be
In our college days when we skipped classes
And went to the movies. Together hand in hand.
But she skipped and nursed me all day.
Like I did when she got the typhoid.
Like she did when I got the malaria.
Like I did when she was on her periods.

There was a day that we all hate. But it came.
It came like a cyclone and washed away
All that was wild and carefree in us.
It was fifteen years of our marriage.
We finally realised there is no hope.
The doctors said she was the reason.

She broke down in sobs and tears.
She was silent at the chamber and the way home.
It was calm winds before a thunderstorm.
It was dark clouds and still sea before a typhoon.
Muffled, I heard rumbling of clouds from inside
The bolted door of our bedroom. She was crying.
She cried for three days and I felt hopeless
Like a pig who knows he will be slaughtered.

Slowly we moved on with our lives.
Slowly enough we learnt to live together.
I don’t know if I still love her like I used to.
But I know, I will not let her cry alone
On a lonely bed behind a bolted door.
Never once till I die or she leaves me behind.