I have never been in love,
Is what I tell everyone.
Never bought a rose,
Or lit a candle brighter than the sun.
Never revised a pose,
Or thought of giving up and run.
I have never been in love,
Is what I tell everyone.
Never looked at them sleep,
And admired in silent thought.
For the small things from them I keep,
Could never match the gold I bought.
I have never been in love,
Is what I tell everyone.
But perhaps I have.
Perhaps, I haven’t.
Though I think to myself,
Is it of any matter?
Maybe it’s another love story,
That stays rotting on the shelf?
Another beautiful fairytale,
Devoid of the reader’s glory?
I have never been in love.
Or perhaps after falling in love,
I never want to be in love.
Maybe it’s for the rich,
Those that hover above.
Those that love,
Whom they are supposed to love.
Or maybe me being in love,
Is another secret I’m forced to keep.
Buried under a miserable glove,
That doesn’t allow it to seep.
Perhaps I’m afraid,
What if the secret doesn’t submerge?
What if the secret that threatens to fade,
Begins to emerge?
So I tell them,
I have never been in love,
Even though I love.
I love the pond and on it a dove,
The fallen flower,
The leaf and then its stem.
So I tell them,
I have never been in love.
Even though love has been in me.
Arav Malhotra is a first year student at Ashoka University and is based in New Delhi, India.
Featured image: Sharon McCutcheon / Unsplash