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The Kind You Hate

By Upasya Bhowal 

You know. 
It eventually boils down to only those particular kind of people,
The kind you Hate. 
When the first rays of sunlight quietly peeped into my room and delicately caressed my face, 
I woke up.
Woke up with swollen eyes and soreness setting in on the crevices of my body, 
I did not cry last night. 
I promise. 
Sat up and hugged my pillow, 
Buried my face in its comfort and whispered to nobody in particular, 
I Hate You. 
On the kitchen shelf there sits a plethora of cups, 
But there are only two.. 
Two cups of my favourite colour and I grab one, 
Pour some coffee into it and then settle down on the kitchen slab. 
And watch the solitary cup sit forlornly, an empty spot beside it from where its partner I had removed, 
In between sips, I angrily grumble, 
I Hate You. 
Went out for work and amidst that sweltering heat and bustling crowd, 
Spotted two lovers. 
Two lovers with their fingers Intertwined, 
Standing side by side and talking about how they wished they could live together. 
The crowd poured out two stops before mine and I sat down, 
Saw those fingers laced in each other and muttered softly under my breath, 
I Hate You.
Came back home after a long day and while rummaging in my drawer for some essential papers, 
Fished out an age old rose. 
An age old rose with wilting leaves and colours fading fast, the fragile petals somehow managing to cling on to each other. 
The papers forgotten, as I pluck off one petal after another and crumple it to dust, 
A guilty pleasure surges through me, 
I Hate You. 
Settled down at night with that neglected journal where the last entry was from three weeks ago, 
The words have died . 
The words have died but love bleeds from its edges still, as they talk about You. 
A single teardrop traces its course down my cheek and after hanging on to my chin for a second finally falls, 
And in doing so smudges the ink of those intricately woven cursives that hold your name. The black Ink runs down the page like smudged kohl from a night of crying.
And amidst all that a broken whisper, 
I Hate You. 
Next morning, when the first rays of sunlight quietly peeped into my room and delicately caressed my face, 
I woke up.
Woke up with swollen eyes and soreness setting in on the crevices of my body, 
I did not cry last night. 
I promise. 
But then, 
You know.. 
It eventually boils down to only those particular kind of people.
The kind you Hate. 
The kind you Love

2 comments

  • Deep. I like how you use the structure to convey two contrasting emotions. Your imagery captures it well. Emotional. Love is deep, huh? :)

    Sanya
  • I liked the rhythm of the poem. Also, how the ending called back to the start and changes your perception of the whole poem.

    Diksha

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