Not a cliche (part 2)

You were a memory
stronger, stranger and sweeter

than all my memories combined.

And even though that's a
clichéd thing to say,
there was nothing clichéd
about reading with you, precariously
perched
atop your balcony ledges,
listening to page after page
unfurl
and footstep after footstep run
then pause, and hover
in search of companions
only to run again to
unknown destinations. 

Today, when I have left,
having gathered
learning beyond what my mind
could measure,
may I thank you
for all the ways in which
you've mattered?

And pluck from each brick, each leaf,
each gulmohar petal,
each lecture, each trip, each bunk,
each canteen table,
memories to last me a lifetime?

And even though fishing for memories
is a clichéd way to be,
there was nothing clichéd
about what you mean to me.

You were a memory
stronger, stranger and sweeter
than all my memories combined.

And you were not a cliché.

(For the best place with the best memories; for SRCC)

Longing

Fractions crave completion.

There is something about a 0.99 that implicitly longs for another 0.01 to make it whole.

Reciprocals crave reciprocals.

The universe craves unity.

Heavy, drooping eyelids crave sleep.

There is something about tiredness that longs for rest and quiet.

Each malady longs for its cure.

Entrapment craves freedom.

There is something about a butterfly struggling to break away from the death grip of a mischievous child.

Restraint longs for liberation.

Night skies crave constellations.

There is something about the needle-points of light from millions of years ago which still shows lost humans the way.

The lost long for direction.

You are my fitting reciprocal, my last 0.01.

You are dreamless sleep, my inimitable peace.

You are the Pole Star, helping me find my way at a tumultuous, treacherous sea.

In my aloneness, I long for you.

I crave you the way craving craves to be craved.

Bare Minimum

Help me craft paper boats
Of love
And set them to sail
Through muddy puddles of rain
Which hold the sky
in their wake-
Perhaps, one day,
Before drowning,
They will reach
Where I couldn't?

Help me fold love along
The highway roads of our initials and see
If the bends meet up somewhere
To link your destiny to me.
Perhaps, one day,
While cruising,
I would be set free?

Help me dream verses of love
In the color that I bleed
And let them seep through my being
Coloring all my need.
Perhaps, one day,
As I bleed,
All pain would cease?

Help me set love on fire
And leave it to crackle
Through fireplaces that gather dust
Inside my heart-
Perhaps, one day,
While raging,
It will burn me to ashes?

Help me hold love tight
In the death grip of my fist. 

Help me restrict my love for you
To the bare minimum.