Love, the dew that falls on both nettles and lilies!

     Anam calls him a a writer, a poet. But in reality Arjun is just a dream-weaver with too many thoughts in his mind. He never believed being in love, just pretending but kept writing about it.

“When our lips touch,
It’s not just a smile,
Not any dream ,
Or even breathing,
...
I just live!”

    Anam had to say goodbye even though her heart was beating weak against her emotion-filled chest. With every drop of blood that ran through her veins, her wrists felt tensed; but she stayed back, back. Her breastbone felt caged – her heartbeats shouting out loud like a murderer begging for mercy.

“No, I never was in love.
And you thought, I wouldn’t know
The feeling?
My body is alive, soul dead;
My eyes are dry, tears dried.”

I wonder —

Now when Anam is gone he gradually breaks down. A thunder inside his throat, trying to swallow lightning. He couldn’t feel anything anymore, shivering with cold; she took the sun with her when she left leaving him frozen. The warmth of love is no more, she is around him no more.

“As I lie sleepless,
Late at night or the early of morning,
I can hear my heart is singing screaming for her.”

Arjun hated himself for never being true enough to speak the truth and to tell her the love, he always felt for Anam.

“I remember her eyes singing to me,
See you soon up there among the stars."

Arjun could never sleep, but just kept dreaming

“Yes, as they say poets do make good liars.”