A Sense of Love

A Sense of Love

I did not love her for the curls of silk
on her head, cascading down like a stream,
that watered the dried out plains of my heart.
Nor was my love for the sparkle in her eyes
twinkling like the beacon from a lighthouse,
that showed my drifting soul a destiny.
I loved her not for the warmth of her smile,
radiating like an Autumn afternoon,
supple, mellow yet reinvigorating,
that healed my ageing spirit’s chronic wounds.

 

But why did I love her then, and for what?
I loved her so because she truly was
what I have always wanted my female self to be.
So loving her was like loving myself for me!


 

We Are, Both!

We Are, Both!

No,
please
do not shake your head

in kindled vehemence
we are not angels,
neither God!

As human beings with consciousness,
latent at birth and later
buried miles under
the mounds
of stories,
we are
both
good
and evil,
enlightened
and ignorant.
Our thoughts can be
both vicious and virtuous.
The contrast lies in our acceptance!

If knowledge does not admit her ignorance,
if virtues do not confess her evil thoughts,
and if light never meets the darkness
on the other side, the ignorance
overflows and the evil inside
in silence grows,
brought up by
our reluctance
to wake up and
open our eyes.
And evil, overgrown, lurks
in our subconscious minds,
as we live our conscious life
without a shred of conscience.
With only our virtues thoroughly
and consciously emphasized, the evil
permeates our thoughts and feelings about
all others, everyone, except the face we see
introspecting, or in an ordinary mirror on the wall!


Beauty, Amplified!

Beauty, Amplified!

“Where is she?”, a voice wailed inside my head.
“There she is!”, another, moments later, replied
in ecstasy and my pupils dilated
at her sight, haloed by the rainbow colored lights.

 

Indeed, she is far prettier than our prettiest dreams,
more beautiful than pure beauty can ever be,
for her other half, forever dark and unseen,
turns beauty to a feeling, mere eyes fail to see.

 

A feeling, reverberating across
our synapses, remaining lodged within
a few neural paths, waiting for a stimulus,
or a set of stimuli – sharp, blunt, serrating,
is better than a mere sight, quicker too
on the release of all the rest with Dopamine!

 

And beauty, when all pure and absolute
like that when with impurity she overflows,
is often only half as beautiful
as when she is in harmony with her darkness,
like knowledge that knows the depth of her ignorance…
Don’t you see, the most beautiful time of the day
is when darkness unites with the shimmering light,
once at dawn and once at the dying hour of the sun?