Did You Ever Love Me? by Rithvik Singh is a tender contemporary poetry collection about love, heartbreak, longing, self worth and learning to let go. Its greatest strength is emotional accessibility: Singh writes directly to readers who feel intensely and care deeply. The collection offers comfort without pretending heartbreak is simple, though its simplicity may occasionally feel familiar to seasoned poetry readers. Did you Ever Love Me? Have you ever loved someone so completely that, after they left, you were left wondering whether they had ever understood what they had been given? Not merely whether they loved you, but whether they ever noticed how much you loved them, how much patience you offered, how many small things you remembered, or how often you chose to stay when leaving might have been easier. There is a particular loneliness in that question because it rarely arrives at a dramatic moment. More often, it finds you while you are doing something completely ordinary. Yo...
You plant a jamun seed in your tiny little soil bed.
One fine day, you see a 2 feet sapling in it's place.
It is jostling for space and has another one of its species for company.
You ponder over the issue and decide to re - plant them both to your factory.
Too much water and too sandy and polluted soil, makes them sad and bare of leaves.
You become sad on seeing a stick of a to be tree in the ground. Its leaves are dried and gone. Probably the plant is now dead.
One fine evening, you are roaming in your factory, trying to do (as usual) 4-5 tasks at once.
In the middle of a discussion with someone, you stop. You are suddenly devoid of speech. One of the dead sticks is now showing spots of green.
You keep talking as you go near and check the other plant too. Your heart thumping with anticipation.
Yes their are green spots on this one too. Probably a sign of new leaves sprouting out.
So, the Jamun saplings won't die after all. You feel excited, happy and grateful to God, to allow the plants a life.
You want to shout and yell, but the clock is ticking and their is just no time. Another meeting awaiting within 10 minutes.
So you don't go very close to the plants and observe them for about ten seconds from a distance.
While coming back home, 3 hours later, you don't mind the jostling traffic and the exhaustive pollution. You are too happy. You are reminded of the plants again, and make a note to take a closer look and spend more time with the saplings.
You lie back in bed at 1 a.m. in the morning and think of the Jamuns again. They shall survive. And so will 4 mango ones. Being the same size approx. they all could grow up together as friends. None of them would ever be lonely. You decide to make compost for them with your own hands.
No outside manure or fertilizers would do for them.
You are so proud of your saplings that you write a blog post on them. While staring at their photos on your mobile.
Is this what means to be a father? Does this mean to care?
One fine day, you see a 2 feet sapling in it's place.
It is jostling for space and has another one of its species for company.
You ponder over the issue and decide to re - plant them both to your factory.
Too much water and too sandy and polluted soil, makes them sad and bare of leaves.
You become sad on seeing a stick of a to be tree in the ground. Its leaves are dried and gone. Probably the plant is now dead.
One fine evening, you are roaming in your factory, trying to do (as usual) 4-5 tasks at once.
In the middle of a discussion with someone, you stop. You are suddenly devoid of speech. One of the dead sticks is now showing spots of green.
You keep talking as you go near and check the other plant too. Your heart thumping with anticipation.
Yes their are green spots on this one too. Probably a sign of new leaves sprouting out.
So, the Jamun saplings won't die after all. You feel excited, happy and grateful to God, to allow the plants a life.
You want to shout and yell, but the clock is ticking and their is just no time. Another meeting awaiting within 10 minutes.
So you don't go very close to the plants and observe them for about ten seconds from a distance.
While coming back home, 3 hours later, you don't mind the jostling traffic and the exhaustive pollution. You are too happy. You are reminded of the plants again, and make a note to take a closer look and spend more time with the saplings.
You lie back in bed at 1 a.m. in the morning and think of the Jamuns again. They shall survive. And so will 4 mango ones. Being the same size approx. they all could grow up together as friends. None of them would ever be lonely. You decide to make compost for them with your own hands.
No outside manure or fertilizers would do for them.
You are so proud of your saplings that you write a blog post on them. While staring at their photos on your mobile.
Is this what means to be a father? Does this mean to care?
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