Poems by Arunava Borah

Do they know that we love them?

a poem by

Arunava Borah

Why is it that the people we love the most,
never really know that we love them the most?
There’s not even a bit of flattery or exaggeration that I’m saying this. Period.
You’re not the sum of all the moments that we have lived or
the number of stretch marks on my skin.

You’re much more than it.
You’re a lot of things.
You’re kinda like the map to my home
which I so desperate want to get to after a tiresome day full of work
just because I know I’ll be all secure and safe.
I’ll have a good rest and I’ll be all cheerful and happy being inside it.
You’re probably, undoubtedly much more precious than my faded denims.
Because, that’s the only piece of clothe I’m most comfortable with.

You’re my confidante, my disparity,
Someone more than just a friend but not an enemy.
My poem, my song,
My favorite cup of cold coffee, all bitter and warm.
Not the number of unread messages, not the silly write-ups that has been ignored.
That favorite human with the most seductive smell,
And that suffocating panda hug, which is the most loveliest of all.
The screenshots that I usually read twice a day,
and those numerous photos that makes my phone’s screen slobbed with truckloads of kisses.
You’re a favorite thought and a comforting place like home.

Boundlessly fascinating.
Unconventional yet, charming.
There’s some kind of joy in leaving or maybe, in the thought of leaving.
What urges people to leave so much?
Maybe because, we get tired of loving the same person for too long, and too much.
Or is it because, the heart is unable to take the ignorance we seek to keep at bay?
Ignorance was never an option yet, love wins everything over.
You’re smart and basically, all good things.
You’re someone, I don’t have to paraphrase my thoughts to.
You’re my type of familiarity and comfort, in a world of strange faces and fragile egos.
Sometimes it’s too late to mend things up
but thank you for making me believe that it’s never too late to start over again
and making sure that I’m okay.

You define and undefine and redefine every human relation that is ever possible to exchange love.
You’re about all those little pamper and stuff with abundance of love.
People change but remains the same, simultaneously.
I love you, without any punctuation.
Some less arguments and more love, please?
But then, where do you find the love in leaving?!
They say the mind is something that wanders.
Yet the same way, the heart is easily deceived and knows nothing at all.
The home is where the heart is.
Here and now, I hope you’re one keeps beating.

Splendid and joyous what it was til the very time.
A streak of hope is what keeps a trail of the lost camaraderie.
Don’t look much for the beauty in the misery,
Death is peaceful, serene. But dying, isn’t!
With all that is said and done,
I hope you find peace within.
Much of what is left and unexpressed,
I hope you get to know that,
you’re someone’s most favorite thing,
you’re loved the most, remember it.

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