Do not begrudge people in love
stealing kisses while they stop their two wheeler at the signal, hugging as they wait for the bus imagining themselves to be invisible, exchanging goodbyes that never seem to end, when they park their car under a tree on a partly deserted road, if they walk hand in hand and take too long to cross the road, groping as they walk on that street without the streetlights, linking their fingers in the train as they reach above to grasp the bar, rubbing their feet together under the restaurant table, feeding each other at the little eatery, cooing behind the boat, hiding in dilapidated structures, writing their name in sand, whispering in the darkness of the movie theatre, laughing and talking oblivious to everyone else.
In this city with the longest beach and thousand watchful eyes, apartment owners forcefully protecting the virginity of their tenants, policemen intruding on private moments, insufficient interaction between the sexes, hotel managers demanding bribes to look the other way as consenting adults try to understand why they are denied the right to stay together, unreasonable curfews imposed by parents, inquisitive families out of touch with the possibility of love,
Where will they go?
This isn’t the city that lets them hang locks on a bridge, or embrace as the New Year begins, or kiss in the park as though it were the most natural thing to do. This is the city that is so concerned with its eroding morals and its obsession with propriety, hurtling towards uneasy intersections between the old order and the new, unaware and in denial that its women can experience lust.
Maybe we can all look the other way.