To love and to be loved (a poem)

A Poem by Mahan

She- I stand by her bedside as she awakes from a state of woeful bliss. Outside the hotel harmony and chaos begin their daily battle. Men and women and children walk upon the scale of a grey serpent, unaware of the beast that breathes beneath the humdrum of their feet.

Traffic lights turn green and the cars begin to move in a procession and then the traffic lights turn yellow and then red and it is now our turn to move across the street. 

The cars await their turn and I stare into her eyes. Her eyes that separate my soul from reality. Her gaze that can elevate tranquility to a state of madness. 

My lingering look caresses her prostrated figure. Her figure that embodies the essence of grace and peace, yet becomes a finger of defiance pointing to heaven when she stands. 

The lights then turn green and the cars begin to move again and the words of beggars are lost in the hectic haze of horns and whistles. 

I am but a mere observer of the outside world. 

It is their world. 

I live within the walls of my own selfish world. 

You- But I will remain inside this threshold so long as I can have the warmth of your skin. It is enough for me to simply lay by your side and trace with my fingertips your lips and your nose, your earlobes and your scars. Each scar is like a star. You are your own universe, and your wounds, whether visible or internal, tell the stories of past pains, stories that have died many years ago but only now one can hear their faint echo. It is enough for me to lay by your side and listen to those echoes. 

The lights turn red and the cars stop and the people of different color cross the intersection. 

I keep tracing your parched lips and I see how they are half open, as if trapping unspoken words that look for a chance to fly. Let them fly and land at the door step of my ears. 

Your words can nestle in my heart and my soul.

That is enough for me. 

Your gaze is enough to fulfill my empty core.

And I know this moment of beauty will pass. In fact, it probably has already passed and you are now gone and crossing the intersection with all the lonely people of this mad city. But I am not the one to tell you whether to stay or to leave. You have done more than enough by giving birth to a moment. A moment that I, many a year from this day, either upon my deathbed or on the day of my marriage, will remember with vivid lucidity, and when the moment becomes lucid in the mind's eye one is overwhelmed by the most contradictory of feelings. 

Those contradictions I push away, and I will love you for giving me a moment of simple solace.

I may never resent you for stepping beyond the boundaries of this hotel room, from the balcony of which we once watched the city lights dance upon the horizon. 

As for now, let me trace your lips with my fingertips and run my hands through your hair. Because this, this is all I want from life, this is where all my ambitions and longings end, to love and to be loved. 