My friend Vamshi Krishna Samudrala shared this writing of his on love, just now on WhatsApp:
Love is an endless pain. A pain that is neither ignorable nor forgettable. It’s good to be a soldier on the losing side of the war than to be a rose in love. Love is a merciless gift. The depths of love are deeper and macabre than the zeniths of war. A single deathshot by an enemy in the warfield is preferable to an invisible poison and curse called love. Love is a sweet kiss that leaves an un-healable bruise on the heart. It’s a summer thirst of belongingness with no satiation, an infinite monsoon flood of oneness with breathlessness and a chilling winter breeze that hugs the wound of loneliness. It’s a magnet with no repelling effect. A trance and an essential dope that no human being can escape from. Infact, yearn for. Reason is undefined. It’s an immeasurable suffering creamed under countable smiles and kisses. A track of frolicsome music with sad lyrics. A chapter of limited pages with countless feelings. Commas are kisses. Exclamations are hugs. Quotation marks are filled with wordless meanings. Every dot in ellipses hides a beautiful painting. Paras are the nuances in the eternal sky. Ends with a question mark like the horizon. The words of happiness are written with tears and red making them indistinct.
Love is a state of pining for a world of dreams. It makes heart a rickety umbrella to withstand super-stormy sadness. It’s a coracle of happiness that sails in cyclonic waters. Love is a cozy fishnet that traps the heart and leaves the blue body standstill. It buds with fear, attraction and interest. Transcends into a tree of benedictions and nestles the moments of joy and dries as an orphan. Love is beautiful snow that covers deadly thorns. Love feigns as a wrapper of rainbow round the heart. But it’s a noose and hangs it without mercy. Love makes the world around a tenuous soap bubble. Colours in it hides grey clouds. It is a universe of extremities.
Love is the concrete that binds humanity. It is the same thing that crushes them with rhythmic force. It doesn’t fall into the ambit of law, politics, systems, philosophy and science. It is beyond one’s knowledge and observation. Even a philosopher could turn into an idiot when the cloud of love smiles at him. It turns wheels into squares and vice versa. It can make a man to bloom the green on rocks or mountains. It can make the same man turn the green into blood. It’s a thing that builds on ironies. It’s a greeting card that dark posts to sunlight with a string of stars attached to it. Dark yens for a lasting hug with sunlight. It requests dawns and dusks to stay longer. There is no place for enoughs and surfeits in the world of love. It comes as a tide of euphoria, and recedes the heart by making it a cemetery of unlimited graves. Memories rest in each one of them. Tears festoon as creepers round the rustic plaques. Every tear drop ladens colossul fire in it.
Love is a den of beaming cereus flowers. It’s a nostalgic stop-over for a nomadic heart. As one goes deeper into it, the den becomes a never ending tunnel of pain. Love is a state in which the earth becomes lighter than the sky. The world around goes topsy-turvy.
The dial of love is ruthless. The heart as a hand clocks between kisses and wounds. With each passing cycle, the sweetness of kisses multiply. Likewise, the pain of wounds. It seems that nature created this magical and explosive enigma known as love to allow a man to experience every shade it offers. Sadly, no one is immune. Love is an invisible shadow with life. It is the richest of all joys and the greatest of all pains. It makes even a great philosopher into an infant which cries and smiles for the reason no one knows except for itself. It’s a piquant perfume without oxygen. It leaves the heart in a planet where time flows at a snail’s pace when it is in grief and passes like a lightening during the rejoicing moments. Love makes the heart a kite that flies against the wind. Behind the puddle of romance there exists an ocean-deep warfare.
Know Thyself 