THIS THING CALLED LOVE
If you tell me
this thing called love
is merely a burst
of oxytocin
or dopamine,
this feeling
these goosebumps
these butterflies in my stomach
these heartbeats faster than the speed of light
are only adrenaline,
I'll tell you
you're right.
But you're wrong too.
I know, science defines
me,
my emotions,
my habits
my preferences,
as mere A-D-G-Cs
of my DNA.
I know,
I am way similar,
to the ape,
living thousands of miles
in the depths of the jungle,
than my own dog
I trained to live,
with me.
like me.
But that’s it -
I am similar,
but not the same.
And I know still -
you will blame it on my DNA.
I agree,
I am a mere creature,
no different,
just ordinary,
a drop in the ocean
of lifeless breaths,
and breathless lives.
But tell me this,
these words I pen
these letters I put
in this lyrical symphony,
why is it just me
that does it
the way I do?
These mere scribbles we assign as alphabets
these gaps we define as words
these sequences we call sentences,
why is it just you
who finds meaning in them
the way only you do?
Maybe we are unique, after all.
And so is love.
But you will insist still.
You will insist still
that love is only an excuse,
a mere consolation to ourselves
claiming
we are more powerful than our urges,
our hormones,
our design.
You will insist still
that it is just a mask,
a mere synonym
to our never-ending search
for meaning,
for happiness,
no different than a beggar’s search for food.
Then tell me why
a mother
knowing the unhappiness,
knowing all the sacrifices,
knowing the pain greater than breaking of bones,
willingly embarks the endeavor?
Why does she,
turn a seed to a tree
all the while oblivious
if the tree would ever bear fruits?
Tell me why I,
adore,
the snores
the snorts,
the tears
the tantrums,
the nagging
the bragging
on her,
when I hate them in me?
Why am I willing,
to climb mountains
cross oceans
chase winds
fight dragons
for her,
when I could just as easily
lie on a beach
and stay?
If that isn't love,
I don't know what life is,
anymore.
