Life in a Museum

An evocative love poem about longing and loss by Prof Nandini – exclusively for Different Truths.

On the wrinkles of my face, may the story of your life be encoded.
May my word wizardry be your speech pattern.

Like in a museum, let time be transformed into space
Life never intended to make us perfect man and woman.

Because whatever is perfect, belongs to a museum.
Don't get so abstract, a fog is no doubt rolling in, but don't shut down.

The present is a museum full of artifacts and art.
Just that, we forget to open our eyes, and keep them blissfully shut.

Your no-game game must be the most popular of all,
I understand this silence as an interlude of clarity.

May I call this phase an intermission
love? Is the glass half full now or the glass half empty?

You have got this quality of slightly decadent surveillance.
It's paralysing, musimising and like your cold-blooded heart.

You have, anyway, seen me at my most vulnerable souvenir.
If I could objectify our love, it would be a keepsake in a gallery of art.

That's my short version, you majestically claimed.
And the long version? Why don't you cut the long story short?

You are so striking, like some Pietà by Michelangelo.
For optimal loverness, you are too handsome and fledgling.

But your eyes look lost, and not so much worldly.
Anyway, a little other-worldly will do, that would be your piety.

You're so hard on yourself, you live like running in a museum.
You entirely redefine standards of self-sacrifice and self-pity

Love, a museum is a place of ideas and integrity.
In the museum, walk slowly but keep walking diligent.

Let us rather build our own museum of contentment,
not just of bricks or art pieces, let its thickness be humane and compassionate.

I am that museum, revealing to you my lifetime love.
I am your work of an era and domicile; I am your immortality.

Don’t measure the success of this museum just as an work of art.
Hold me between the landscapes, like a pedant live in it.

Picture design Anumita Roy