Poetry

The inescapable curvature of attraction

Every love story starts
on a meandering path,
among the red spires
of antiquity, pickled with
dragons and veiled ladies,
or with a surprise swipe
towards the right,
guided by a profile
with a proverbial picture
that minced no hashtags.

The numbing tangent
that usually ensues
feels like a daze
without the chemicals, of course.
Towards the end however
every story longs
for a convex arc
to make it real,
for something true,
reminiscent of all
that we once were.

Everything curves
and coils back, they say,
riding on not just
the seductive words
but also the body of an
ophidian paradox.

Even gravity is borne
of the space time curve,
gravity of your thoughts
and actions are dictated
by the space and time
of your life’s transcending arc.

The circle of life may
seem broken at the tangents,
following love, family or dreams,
going astray on singular tracks.
Each may digress beyond us,
beyond logic but always
looking back wistfully,
they recount often
about how it began,
and of the curve
they originated from.

They teach us to follow dreams,
to aim bigger and better,
to be relentless, preserving faith
in ourselves and in others.
But when you see ethics bent
for building the arches of success,
what attracts are the curves
of rectitude that when aged,
ride not just our senile backs.

Attraction needs
a better explanation
than that of following a curvature,
for we know the truth
of our coiling wishes,
and the recoils of
a resurgent conscience
every time the elusive line
we think we are following
curves back to where
we started from.

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