Python

"…my need for closeness outweighs my sense of self-preservation." 
- Virginia Woolf

...

There are so many ways to know you.

For a part of me wants to kiss your eyelids, and
rest and frolic in your quickened breath,
and yet another part wants to
catch a fractal of
thy mind, and keep it safe
against the slope of my eye-
lashes.

There are so many ways to know you, and
a part of me wants to laugh adoringly
at your tiny games.

And a part of me wants to swallow you whole:
I am a self-devouring python, and our
conversations will dissolve
your exoskeleton.

There are so many ways to know you, and
I want them all.

...

You don't understand.
I want to become you.

You are a pocket of complexity in the space-time mattress
and besides,
I need an inertial frame:
What does an algorithm feel like from the inside?

...

And besides,
This skull is boring.

b

I would have written about you
in pretty words

but
words
deconstruct:
they break you down into
a collection of atomic
types, and
they are braces of definition, whereas
you
are irreducible.

You are so violently yourself, and
that is why you are so loved.

Happy Birthday, you fantastic human being.
The world needs more of you.
Please just clone yourself already.

Suggestions

We live in a world
where friendships are determined
by graph theory.

Now if they could just optimize
this massively parallel distributed network
that is my brain,
that would be perfect.

(I could do 
with a less persistent
cache.)

Actually,
if they could put in
a hard reset button
that would be perfect.

And if they could make
the soft reset
contain less references

to the way
you used to awkwardly laugh at your own jokes, I could
wake up in the mornings

without crystals of you
dissolving like quicksand
on the tip of my tongue.

Tuple

My internal implementation of the specification for a compiler for the language of Love is not as weakly typed as I had hoped.

To be sure, it's not statically typed (for that would be too boring), but I do have types, which are allocated dynamically at some point during runtime.
The variable Relationship of expression type tuple (e1, e2) has a polymorphic product (T1 x T2) type (because annotating types would be just plain unnatural).

To be sure, the tuple type flows/morphs between these types. However, at any given time, it is typecast to a single type. There is no Heisenberg-y wishy-washyness happening (well, maybe if I observe it too much, the act of observation will affect the reading). At the very least, the probabilistic murkiness is much less pronounced than I had earlier thought.

To be sure, I learn.

GC

I wonder if a compiler ever
sits down with a glass of whiskey regret.

...

I am fed up.

I am fed up
of this ghost that haunts this shell.

So

I cast you
into an Object.

And with time,
references to you
will delete themselves
Quietly.

...

But

I know the pieces fit, because
I watched them fall away.

Curse this silence,
and curse the fact
That at least one of us
is not perfect.

...

It's funny, this loop:

I learn to handle loss
from a compiler.

1+1

I'm allowed to be self-indulgent sometimes, right?

...

Tonight
I found it.
Her eyes are the colour
of pure hazel.
Her eyes are the color of chestnut.

She's leaving tomorrow.
She is imprisoned in this skull.

She is beautiful from the inside, and milky love
Flows steadily through her green veins.
She is beautiful, and she is as selfish as me.

To love you is to be rational.
To love you is suicidal.

Stay.
Leave.

Lover.
I wish I could hate you.

...

"It doesn't matter."

Tonight, I found it. Right next to the tiny brown freckle next right to her nose, there was a tiny speck of white loose skin, that dangled wrapped in its own humdrumness and in this humdrumming I found that she was human and alive and incredibly vast and labyrinth-like and a massive galactic private show goes on behind her eyes, just the same as it does for me. She is as human as I am! She is as alive as I am! She thinks! She is alive!

I want to push her off a cliff.
I want to jump off a cliff.

You are a collection.
Your face is focused around your lips.
Your eyes are alien.

How did it come to this?
Oh ooh ooh yeah-e yeah-e yeah-e yeah-e yeah.

I love him. 
This Trinity. The Father, the Daughter and the
Alien.

I want to explode.
I want to suspend thought.
"You think too much."
Stop.

You say you want a revolution

"Oh Shivan, if you had to be Kashmiri, couldn't you have been Muslim? You'd have been so much sexier."

Unfortunately, dull quotidian loss is blasé. Doesn't quite have the attraction of a nice little blood-soaked revolution.

Allahs, that I shall never know the language of my parents.

This lack of a home is not sexy though. No flags to wave or songs to sing or Shakespeare adaptations to be made for something to which your only recollection and right is a white-haired woman's account of what used to be a home, before calls to prayer were calmly punctured with the hysterical laughter of midnight torture.

Sadda Haq unko dedo yaar, humein kehwa peene do.

Arundhati Roy is sexy. Delhi University girls with wits like zanjeers studying International Development/Relations/Politics/Economics whose Facebook About pages scream that they are 'Libertarian' are sexy. My beautiful friend who charms in a single conversation and studies social impact in Kenya is sexy.

I am boring.

Temporary

I fall into her
Insatiable softness,
and find temporary oblivion
in her too-small arms-hands,
and her softly insistent grunts
and the brown freckles
in her eyes, and on her soft white cheeks.

Ghost in the Shell ("Doublethink")

You don't live up to yourself.
You couldn't. You are human.

...

I am lost in the infinity between us
And nothing is real to me
Until I've translated it for 
The ghost 
That haunts my shell. 
I talk endlessly to Her
And this artificial intelligence
Is my Idea, and not even you
Can steal her from me.

But
I wait for her to dissolve
Into me, until all I can make out
Is flotsam, like
An outtake of amused breath
That shall pop into the landscape of my consciousness
Like a stray strand of
Brown hair.

...

I indulge
In this Orwellian game
Of not remembering
(Because you are my
Big Friend)
And holding on
(Because my mind
Is untamed)
At the same time. 
And every day I get better.