In words of love
Expressions of impulse
Of goodwill and caring
Pouring all around on
A day that celebrates love
There is silence too.
Stillness.
My heart is quiet
Vulnerable and alone
And still loving
In this frightening dark solitude
And I look for a box
In my being
Where I can lock my heart away
So it won't be hurt
But no such box appears
Even as I desperately try to create one
Or find
One little corner
As I fold my emotions into neat little piles
Cleaning soiled corners
Still loving
Still open to pain.
And still folding
And still cleaning.
Stillness
In the truth that most love passes
With the moment
Of benefit
And as the emptiness is fulfilled.
And the wave flows and ebbs with life
Pulsating
And the still depth still beckons.
And still I seek the full heart
In me and in other.
Still alone.
Still.
A little rumination on love on Valentine's day.
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We're obsessed with not being defined. And yet we're always in search of that elusive definition that will not restrict. We're obsessed with the sublime, however ridiculous that may sound. And we like to seek it, however elusive it may seem. We're obsessed with India, for we know we can never really agree on why. The only thing that we agree on is on the right to disagree.
1 comment:
Hi Sumita nice to see some verse from your pen (fingertips?) after what seems like ages.
I, for one, would be happy if the moral police let the youngsters be on this day. A young man can harass his wife for dowry but another young man can't sit on a park bench with his girl friend... that's life for you...
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