After a long day at work,
I want to come home to flowers,
a little message, stuck on my book
on the table, bedside:
“laundry done, I’ll pick up our child,
looking forward to movies tonight”.
When he sees my first wrinkle,
he’ll say – “honey, you’re like a
fine whiskey, turning better,
stronger, as you age”.
I have seen my parents
turn arranged marriage into
a love story.
When things aren’t right,
a fake apology – after their fight,
a kiss on the forehead,
a hug, so tight –
watching a movie
pretending not to notice
as I’ve sneaked past
to the kitchen
in the middle of the night.
For the love they feel
for eachother –
the togetherness they share,
as they stand up and fight,
no matter who or what they fear.
When I look back I’ve realised,
I dream of a man –
who’s standing up for me,
nurturing our love patiently.
Helps me put on my jacket,
holds the door as I am about to open it,
chivalry doesn’t need no gender –
but character defines the human
to who I wouldn’t mind surrender.
To this dream I will add more,
building a future isn’t fast but slow,
like dancing slowly to love songs,
or simply to our heartbeats in the middle
of our room, or even a dance floor.
I have some dreams and wishes,
growing old with someone who
loves me like –
my parents love eachother,
even when they fight!
ANTHROPOLOGY OF LOVE 