Jasmines in Her Hair, written by Kalpesh Desai, is for professional yearners of the world. Using simple language, Desai explores the different aspects and stages of falling in love.
Growing up, I was surrounded by the presence of love and romance—in all the media we consumed and in all my interactions with the opposite sex. There was always that word: “crush.” It was something everyone wanted—no, needed. And a poem reflects on this feeling, deeming it an addiction.
Will there be sweet surrender,
To this addiction that keeps pulling me under?
No one ever really talked about the unbearable desires that came with it. They warned us about drugs, alcohol, and smoking, but never about falling for the person who will take and take until nothing is left.
That emptiness you feel when it’s over,
Is nothing but space,
To newly seek and discover.
And when you’ve emptied your heart, wrung it dry, and placed it back into your hollow chest, you’re left with an empty canvas. Not a canvas that’s been primed, with dollops of paint on a palette ready to create. Reviving a heart like that is hard. It may feel like starting far behind the starting line.
I’ve only confessed once. Infatuated with the idea of love, I emptied my heart through distant words. In hindsight, it wasn’t truly love. But hindsight always makes things clear. It comes from a time when I—and perhaps many of us—lacked identity or appreciation for what we did have as one.
Rediscovering love can be a daunting task. When we learn only two, three, or maybe four types of love, the label becomes fixed. “Love” your creator, “love” your parents, “love” your friends, “love” your partner. Such words were reserved for those closest to you. They had your heart, and they were the ones who received the love you could give. For so long, it felt like there wasn’t enough love left for anyone else, including yourself.
Is it ok if I love you a little less,
And love me a little bit more?
After emptying your heart, leaving it barely beating, allowing yourself to receive more can feel wrong or undeserving. Another poem meekly asks, as if it's a tall order: “Is it okay?”
I saw what I could give to someone else. Through the hurt and emptiness that came from thinking I had fallen in love while growing up, I saw that effort. Allow yourself the ice cream, the pretty smoothies, and the movie date with friends.
It was time
To let go.
It wasn’t mine,
I told myself so.
For the sake of self-love, you let go. It will not be the same. The words that once brought joy and passion slowly lose their spark, becoming a mere collection of letters. The space they used to occupy slowly begins to close. The love that has nowhere to go can find a new heart to fill. Jasmines in Her Hair shows the process of relearning love, both in its ugly moments and its hopeful ones. There is a rawness in its presentation of love.
by Nicole Samson