Mine to Hold

Last night,

I walked the bridge between you and me,

I found you brooding by the flowing river,

Your back to me,

I rushed to throw my arms around your neck,

Hesitant, shy,

You could have hurt me,

Pushed me away,

You didn’t,

Instead, you held my hands, 

As I stood there piggybacked,

We stayed like that for a long time,

Deaf-mute,

So much had been said,

Not yet, banished,

Like the ugly smoke from the chimney,

It choked our throats,

But something made me walk the bridge,

And that something made you sit by the river,

That something pulled us to each other,

I could call it love and demystify it,

And the celebration would begin.


No, it can’t be love,

That’s a cliché,

It would have died on its own,

Strangely, I remember kneeling by your feet,

Tying, un-tying your shoe lace,

Like one kneels by His feet,

And surrenders to that which is,

Then you and I can’t be equal,

And you will always be on a pedestal,

Oh, you will fall,

As all Gods do,

But you shall rise, too,

As all men do.


Sitting by that bridge with my arms around you,

You are the song in my prayers,

The pulse in my heart,

The first drop of rain falling on my lips,

You, my dear, are like no one else,

Beautiful,flawed…simply mine to hold.

—- Ismita Tandon Dhanker 

      Author of the month for her book
      Jacob Hills 

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