War of the Souls

They say

That whoever will marry her

Will have daily cries

And woes.

She was his own making

In her way of talking.

She has a mind

That he built

With his own bricks of pain.

She can hurt in ways,

Only him can weigh.

Well, she has to tie the knot 

Not with her soulmate

But with a man

Who should just quench

His thirst 

And not her own.

She’ll drink

From so many pots

But there’s a pot

From so far away

Beyond the eastern horizon

From which she drinks

When everyone

Isn’t in the vicinity.

This pot is far

And usually inaccessible-

Sometimes it is.

To him

She’s also an inaccessible pot

But he drinks 

Much from her pot

To cater for the oncoming dark days.

He has a progeny

And a helper

But when they’re out of the vicinity

He checks her ancient emails

Photos and writings

That they shared

During their teenage years.

Her parents

Want a grandchild.

She’s worried

That her pals

Have replicated their genes.

She will find someone

To handle that.

Her husband

Will be the father 

Of her progeny

And her soulmate

The physician of her heart.

It’s not only him and her

Surviving 

This complicated chemistry

But milliards

Surviving

In the hands of husbands

And wives

Who reach out

To their soulmates

When their souls demand.

These are innocent people

Who've kept letting go

But realize

That they’re letting go

Of their own souls–

He lets her go

But finds himself

Right at her quarters.

There must be some science

We don’t know of

That keeps people entangled

For their entire lives.

They fight to let go

Of their cherished souls

That became their own.

They spend 

The remaining pie 

Of their lives

Seeing them

In their dreams

And thoughts.

They use all strategies

To bury their memories

In oblivion-

They change phone numbers

Yet still text them

With their new line.

They visit cinema halls

To erase their memories

But when they see lovers kissing

In the movies

They imagine them

In their hands.

Many have learnt,

To live life

As an equation–

Societal expectations

On one side

And soul demands

On the other.

This is the war of the souls–

A lifelong war

That they win 

Six feet under.

This is a war they fight

All their lives.

Their hearts and souls

Get bruised

In this lifelong war.

Soon they grow old

And then the Grim Reaper

Finally comes

And then

The war of the souls

Comes to an end.

© Sea-Crab Poetry

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