They tell me that I’ll need a ‘progeny’ to keep me company when I am gray.
I want to tell them that I am not a virus that needs to reproduce and survive at all costs.
I want to tell them that I’d rather choke on my vomit alone, than birth ungrateful little pests that consume mama earth rampantly without a second thought.
You see I am an ardent believer of love.
I grew up surrounded by it, consumed by it, drowning in it and eventually learning how to swim in it.
What’s more? Fortunately, or unfortunately, the backdrop seems to romanticize everything around me;
The wilderness of the hilly forests,
Blazing and mesmerizing sunsets setting fire to the skies,
Scrumptious fruit laden orchards
Eagles that fly so high, yet seem so close that they might just gouge out one’s eyeballs.
Where in the world would I think anything about social security and financial humbug when these mountains have made me as strong as them?
(The lyrics of ‘Country Strong’ play in my head at the moment, “…cuz I’m country strong, hard to break, like the ground I grew up on…)
All of these, flourish in love- or if you want to say they flourish by consuming each other, I might agree too, but we’ll keep the existential dread for another day.
With the advent of AI, human relationships have a whole new different meaning and the escape lies in the words of all those ancient romantic philosophers who sook the meaning of life almost two thousand years ago (or they say), but even a mere attempt on my part to put that idea into words would be a pathetic mimicry (as Plato has already stated).
Contrary to the popular belief of everything coming to an end, love somehow has a beginning, a middle but somehow no end.
Love smells like the morning dew,
fresh baked bread,
soil; fresh from the first few drops of rain,
freshly picked tea
a mother’s smothering care
It smells like a father’s experimental recipe
and the fire on cold winter evenings.
It feels like bees singing on a myriad of flowers, ecstatic in the hope of a bright sunshiny day.
(I know, the lot of you hate the sun owing to the heat, but trust me, we hill people love nothing more than lazing and romanticizing our lives in the warm sun- a capitalistic asshole will say it is a lazy life, but damn you! You don’t know the pleasures. Also, I know them worker bees be just making honey for the queen, but pshhawww- I see love and refuse to fall for your “$cientific” tactics of making the world a dreary place!)
Love feels like butterflies dancing on your moss-covered belly, which is almost one with the earth.
But at times love feels like hot molten stones being shoved down your throat and at times like one being covered in gun powder to be ignited on a later date.
(If you don’t know how gun powder feels- go eat a firecracker) 😛
Love, you see is vulnerability-meeting-hope, trusting the one who holds you at gun point to shoot your favorite flowers when they pull the trigger.
But when people reduce it to progeny and weddings- I want to laugh at their failed attempt of merely outliving their lives with a loveless existence.
Why so, because they see the act of loving as a failure of some sort, as if loving was something alien to them and restricted to the bonds of familial responsibilities and societal worthiness- all because they’re afraid to feel the depth in a heartbreak- they writhe in tar of institutional programming and want to plaster the same on the ones different and in love.
Nothing, in the world will prevent you from going through a heartache, give in and love, because you’re destined to reproduce any way.
© Samrta Marks