Random thoughts about my romantic idiocy

You, with your ideas of love
at first chat or text, your visions
and notions of romance,
virtual kisses, teleporting you
into my solitude, your starlit
emoticons gyrating over
a dance floor you imagine
I sit on, when you’re a stranger
in a strange land, and I’m
on my bathroom floor, hoping,
begging you’d stop, you, mooching off
phone conversations, creating
sighs, whispers and moans
in your songs, breathy,
airy, erotic rap, Akua Naru
free flow, and I still like her,
but never you, who makes it
sound like there was actually
something when there was nothing
to begin with, no love, just a
little lust, and the motes of loneliness
that settle on my skin gave into
another slipshod idea of
a girl and I, another silly
phone screen transit, the heart
said, “No!” But the mind said,
“Yes!” Or, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
But man, I’m glad it’s over,
now the mind’s uneasy, unsettled,
upset, but the heart says, “Phew!”
And I guess I’ll have to move
my butt, and walk up to the
girl in the café, and run for my life
if she’s another you!

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

Protected by Copyscape

22 responses

    • Oh trust me. I’m a hopeless romantic, neurotic idiot. I think I’ll stick to killing off a few imagined ex-girlfriends in my coming poems. Way more catharsis!

      • Fabulous! I’ll grab some popcorn, get comfortable and reserve a front row seat. Though if there is carnage I might be better off in the second row :)

      • I was wondering why you weren’t in the front seat for my post Fate. I saved some Thums Up and the rum I promised you, and then just gulped it down miserably with cheese popcorn. Now I know. Such is life.

      • Alas my life is a (mini) turmoil of work commitments and a screwed up body clock post Xmas vacation. My approach to your posting has been erratic and I even ended up in the wrong theatre where there were no refreshments!

      • Damn. No refreshments. And here they allow people to sneak in home made food. Still can’t figure out why on earth an old friend would do that! And my body clock is effed post stress lol. I’m writing a post for my daughter Diane by the way. Don’t worry it’s just an old father’s rambling!

      • You have a daughter? And of a reading age hopefully? Tell her to put down her Snapchat and listen to her papa’s words before the old man starts spitting gibberish …

      • Oh she speaks Latin and is into Emily Dickson. I’m introducing her to Plato in the next post. I think Emily was always in the cave, chained.

      • Thank you for the entertaining discussion. I will be falling asleep with Plato clutched to my chest. Because something tells me it won’t be an easy read …

      • There is no fooling you. I will have to read from paper you say? And use my hands to turn pages. And engage my mind, so easily distracted by smart phone notifications? (excuse me, I have to update my Facebook status to say “busy reading Plato, see you in three months”).

      • Facebook! Facebook! Really. Psst. I was expecting more Diane. Well go and update your ‘status’, or whatever that is, before I turn it static. P.S. I dare you to actually tell FB that an old father wants you to read Plato and turn the pages.

      • Hmm I’m tempted. But I’m not convinced you are in fact old, although the beef and tobacco may have you feeling it somedays.

      • Oh I’m feeling it alright. The beard is already here. The only thing left is the pipe and a friend called C.S.Lewis, even though I despise allegory!

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