Celluloid

Has ruined the beautiful concept

We call love.

A word of merely a syllable

Has been used perfunctorily

It has ruined its very meaning

Its very quintessence.

She looks at him

He looks at her

A chance meeting, that's all

The world stops

Music plays, soft

And they fall in 'love'.

Such temptation

Or maybe just a chance glance

Casually termed as 'love'.

I cannot help but sigh.

We may be the poster couple, Krishna

But who remembers us these days?

Concealed in the layers of the darkness of Kali

Who wants to

Understand love first

And not just feel it?

But I accredit them to one thing

I have found hopelessly romantic.

Subtle, yet romantic.

I find myself regretting,

To my own surprise

That the very tradition

Didn't exist in our times.

In all these millennia, Krishna

You've never sat on your knees for me

With a ring and roses.