Tuesday, 18 August 2015

Date a poet.

Date a poet.

Date a man who spends more time admiring the nook of your neck looking for inspiration than spending hours in front of his television set. Date him for his ruffled pages and crumpled clothes because even when you are tired and a complete mess, his words will find your beauty in spaces where you thought there was none.

Date a poet because he will quote to you the likes of Tennyson and Cummings with the poise of a golden deer. And when Keats won’t be enough he’ll write you his own love poems. For you to hold on to long after his remnants are gone.

Date a poet because he knows what vulnerable is, and will turn every moment worth remembering into couplets of memory. That you can relive when you miss him. Date him for his strong hands that have bled to bring to life, poems that he will never truly love. Date a poet because he will never let you sleep over a fight; instead he will write you a haiku and you will smile. Even when you are clenching your teeth with anger, and even in moments you despise him. You will blush like a girl kissed in the rain, by the boy her mother warned her about.

Date a poet because in coffee shops he will pass you love notes scribbled on tissue paper. And you will have to order one cup after another because he wouldn’t stop talking about his day, and you will smile because you are in deep trouble. In stupid love, with a poet. Date a poet because no one else can put in words the answer to the question, ‘Why do you love me?’ like he does.

Date a poet because he will read to you the genius of Frost. And in time you’ll know that if you had to perish twice, his words are enough and will suffice. Date a poet because his heart will flutter not when he sees a beautiful girl, but when he catches a glimpse of his favourite author in a bookstore. Date a poet because it is easy to buy him gifts, for his birthday get him a Neruda and a Virginia Woolf for the anniversary. And just as a surprise throw in a Manto for he loves a short story.

Show him your flaws and broken pieces because he understands that sometimes poems don’t rhyme but that they are no less melodious or beautiful. Tell him no lies because he doesn’t believe in black and white. That ‘b’ doesn’t always follow ‘a’ because rhyme schemes like people are imperfect. Date a poet because when you hurt and fail him, he will know better than to hurt you back. Instead he will soothe you with metaphors and in alliterations he will, profess how much he loves you. Date a poet because the year when you can’t take a holiday he will drown you in imagery, the kind that you won’t need eyes to see. Date a poet because he will make you his poetry and you will hate when he writes about you and you will hate when he stops.

He won’t propose at a candlelight dinner. You will not find a ring in the cake. He will ask you to marry him in bed, after you’ve cuddled with him all night. He will ask you to do it for the rest of your life. And you will smile. Because you are in stupid love, with a poet.

Poets may or may not always look like this. It is only representative in nature and mostly wishful thinking.