Monthly Archives: September 2014

The Bird of Love (takes flight?)

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The Bird of Love (takes flight?)

I
Pity the fool who claims
to have fallen in love;
to have fallen in love
with a fool like me…!
What shall you gain,
except for a desire
to reflect on yourself
in the name of love,
in the name of a love
that is true in YOUR world.

And, what shall you gain,

than a desire perhaps,

to deflect yourself,

to despise yourself,

in the name of a ‘love’,

true only, in your world.
This love for a dame
As wandering as I,
As gentle as I,…
As ‘deceiving’, as I.

Though yes, of course,
I never deceive for the sake
Of deception,
Or to settle for some other
object of affection…
But there’s nothing here
you would like to own;
Not even this heart:
this lump of flesh,
this vessel, of blood…?

My blood a life,

a life not mine,
only to be shared,
never surrendered
completely,
And never given away:
Given away, so as to
render me lifeless!

This heart belongs,
truly, to the one,
Who strives not
for the sinful bliss
seized in the chimera:
a mistaken feeling,
of possession.

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II
“Be mine”, he says.
I say, “Be yours first.”
He says, “I AM mine.”
I say, “So am I.”

……
He looks at me,
Anticipating,
eager, “So are you, what?
….Mine?!”
“No, I am mine too,
just as you are yours.
My madness, for me;
My laughter, for me.
And what could you share,
but only a few hours,
hours by the clock?
You share your body,
But your eyes block me out,
Block my passage to your soul.”

Taking my words
for a passing remark,
for a poet’s thought:
fleeting, yet haunting;
He tries to convince me,
“My soul is yours.”
I answer,
“So you thought to give me
what you want for yourself,

the least?”

A wise bargain indeed,
coming from a man
too much of the world;

a world, strange indeed,

to a stranger as I.

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Litany of the Little

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Litany of the Little

You are baby’s breath,
Burning incense, a rising flame.
You are me, and I have no name..!

You are the might
Of all seven oceans, all together,
All at once:
Salt-water, that drowns some,
But keeps many more alive.

You may not be the rush
In my crazed adrenalin,
Nor the laughter of a drunken night.
You are not possession, the lust thereof.
You are not flesh, the saline taste of it.
Or perfume that scents a lover’s hug.
Nor are you the moisture of skin,
Or reflections in her iris
Witnessed by my naked eye.

I may be you,
Perhaps a relic of your past;
Else, a glimpse of what more you are.
I might have been the valley
As she beholds Nature’s offerings;
Nurtures, unbiased as a Mother,
All travelers that come her way.

I may be vision, I may be a flower.
I may be the time-keeper,
Giving up my dearest hour.
But, I am no baby’s breath,
I am not the Sea.
No able giver of life…
And though, I am a bit of you,
You are all; I’m nothing, and only me!