Rather dramatic, this poem of yours
or should i say it was, the choice of
crimson that you chose to paint
her neck with, in a faint chain
enmeshed with death or
latent lust that coaxed
life out of her porcelain form;
each tug another act of love.
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15 comments:
A Good One ROCHELLE!
Love does not need permissions. It just happens... Be it once, twice or n-number of times... LOVE just is!
Rather than ask this question
or attempt to seek sanction;
can you not let your own
heart decide, whether to melt
everytime you hear the echoes of
love knocking on your doorside?
Love, you know is a freedom, for
every-one is free to love.
heartfelt,
thank you though this isn't written by me it is a prized possession like a demonic possession!
aakash!!!,
hmm, there are different loves that we are talking about. Because love to me is a silent, brewing obsession that consumes me rather than setting me free.
(though I appreciate your thoughts :)
BTW, did you notice this time, that it was an acrostic again? :)
Or did you miss it totally?
just like you missed
reading this comment.
aakash!!!,
I missed it again!!!
:))
:)
Glad that acrostics are still not so easy to spot.
One can say so many things that one would
Otherwise quote only after thinking a lot
Dont you think so?
You know who i am, dont you?
:)
I am eager to say, “No, I don't” and ask philosophically, “Do you know who you are?”
On the other hand, I am prompted to say “Yes. You are the information you provide: dreamer, maverick, socially unacceptable.”
or the question you ask: “Where are you off to?”
which isn’t answered
because not answering is a kind of freedom
asking, another kind.
like walking in and out of a large museum.
We are so alike. That’s why we keep coming back.
someday i'll find the questions
behind all those answers
that i did not seek.
Someday i'll be more courageous
you know the earth will
be inherited by the meek.
And heaven exists in your choice,
i seek, you hide, i hide, you sneak.
'I seek, you hide, I hide, you sneak.'
you can put a smile
to every verse
you must be a cherished beast
in some far country
Just what i wrote, some minutes ago
to your post that talks of lovers and their types
Of wry smiles and sly whiles and air miles
accumulating over this distance
in a sublime resonance.
So before i fall in love,
Tell me how many loves are permitted?
You ask me!
and I know only this
that
love follows
so love just so many times
that when solitude
wraps you in its arms
it embraces your lovers too
in a slow, slow dance
because love always haunts
... And love always hurts.
...and that hurt intoxicates
that's why it has such a high place
in the minds and memories of men
of all race
... but what when morning comes
and brings with it the day
and alongwith the rolled newspaper
that was hurled into your porch
you rub your eyes to realise
that stupor was not a dream.
What then?
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