Love. Poem by Subhadip Bhattacharya

Maybe those neon lights that glow,
when couples hold hands together in the evening,
while walking, is what is called love.
Maybe those winds that blow,
in the slow afternoons while youth
quietly slumber, is what is called love.

Maybe those lounge, pubs and restaurants,
where boys and girls meet is what,
is where love resides.

Maybe those teeth that are broken and yellow,
and the old age slowly creeping in.
Those beggars that wait for alms
by the pavement, lean their body together....
is also what is called love.