Harsh Vardhan

“The moon touched my shoulder
and I longed for a vanished love”
― Agha Shahid Ali, A Nostalgist's Map of America: Poems

“Give me, you said, on our very first night,
the forest. I rose from the bed and went out,
and when I returned, you listened, enthralled,
to the shadowy story I told.

Give me the river,
you asked the next night, then I’ll love you forever.
I slipped from your arms and was gone,
and when I came back, you listened, at dawn,
to the glittering story I told.

Give me, you said, the gold
from the sun. A third time, I got up and dressed,
and when I came home, you sprawled on my breast,
for the dazzling story I told.

Give me,
the hedgerows, give me the fields,
I slid from the warmth of our sheets,
and when I returned, to kiss you from sleep,
you stirred at the story I told.

give me the silvery cold,
of the moon. I pulled on my boots and my coat,
but when i came back, moonlight on your throat
outshone the story I told

Give me, you howled
on our sixth night together, the wind in the trees.
You turned to the wall as I left,
and when I came home, I saw you were deaf
to the blustering story I told.

Give me the sky, all the space
it can hold. I left you, the last night we loved,
and when I returned, you were gone with the gold,
and the silver, the river, the forest, the fields,
and this is the story I’ve told.


"Give”
― Carol Ann Duffy, Rapture

“She was beautiful, but she was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close.”
― Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

“Come to the orchard in Spring.
There is light and wine, and sweethearts
in the pomegranate flowers.

If you do not come, these do not matter.
If you do come, these do not matter.”
― Rumi