Between the nutshell and a cosmic genius
made out of peach like skies,
the definition of love
fetches not only the moon
from millions of other poems
not only the fluence of
of the ocean crossing erased lines
not only the perpetual disgust
at shouldering each other to a still
not only the faith
in having to write one's own script
not only our soul hungry
conviction that we lead in examples by
not only our non-preference for facts
but merely advantages
not only the bodily translations
of our faith approaching justification
not only the exclusion
of your opinion from this rendition of mine
not only you,me and this world
sharing their unsolved equations
not only with the blind and deaf
Not only, not only. "Write one's own script." I was with a woman today, sure to the core, that the universe would bring her what she desired and she would always be where she was supposed to be. There was no concern, or hesitation. Just a faith that if she put it out there, the universe would bring it to her. Wonder if the same can be said of love....so many versions of this word, we live, we manufacture, we succumb, we are wowed.
ReplyDeleteHope you are good friend. You write so eloquently, but I am never really sure what churned the surface to create the ripple of words.
even the most real of emotions felt are mere illusions more often than not. i knw u;d agree
ReplyDeleteAnnie,
ReplyDeleteI'm doing fine...It has been a long time since we tapped each other's heads...But i'll get to that through mail..Hopefully you have gradually grown out of your relived childhood with a lot to carry forward from here on...Thank you as always...
Neha,
I agree...Completely...What is love but complacence of the heart in distinguishing between today and a well imagined life in the future...Let us hope its not that..We will never know..But always question..