Thursday, 19 March 2009

and still may we love...

Wednesday, 6 June 2007

In dusty corners of old forgotten attics where memories and broken nostalgia mingle to hate our existence where we met many years ago when the dirt was less but still considerable where we made erotic gestures like batting eyelids and other things there I know you wait endlessly for me but I don’t have the courage to return…

In the cool riverside breeze of the last millennium with gothic pillars and white magnificence there I know you also wait for me to gaze at sinking horizons in the calm serenity of renewed vigour and youth for I know that the river is older than our love…

In the sublime snowscapes of old half-remembered dreams in which snowball fights decided the winner or loser of an unequal match where both parties wanted to make utter hatred in cozy log cabins and blue tinged green veined red cheeks looked like luscious apples…

In the myopic vision of many lost generations who believed that love was immortal splendid sad but did not know how to translate this and got married got disillusioned had children who also did the same whose initial grand visions ended in sordid divorce and they knew not the scope of true love…

In the universe of our many delusions only one thing do I know with certainty that I have loved and my love was true and so did you and we wait for eternity to end so that we can reunite for this bitter joy is what sustains us this never being together this eternal anticipation and constricted feeling at the same time liberating…Thus ends the saga and thus begins it for in our end lies our beginning and we shall meet in those sepia attics and the whiteness until universal darkness shall engulf us in a different understanding
and still may we love…

Posted by ahona at 07:41 16 comments

And yes, I loved him then-and I love him now. For I found him between then. And now.

3 comments:

Jadis said...

puro aww with eyes-closed-grin...

^_^
vewy pwetty..

Baudolino said...

I have read this poem a thousand times. And I seem to do something new, every time I read it. I never thought reading something could become a speech-act so easily, a speech-act of love?

ahona said...

Well, it became...for you. It was just a poem once. Then it became a poem. The poem.It was a vague, senseless thing...cruel as vague acts of terrible assertion and insane power are. You made it less cruel. It was something, but after you it...was.