Thursday, 11 March 2010

poetry

Oh my kind young narcissus,
I have loved you, until your love directed inwards,
killed me.

And I wrote to you, commemorating that love-
this very draft here replaced the old one-
a beautifully composed pack of lies.

Perhaps that sort of love is meant to be
written over and over again.
Some sort of ecstasy in pain
Out of my skin, in yours, must we begin
to recount the old story of obsession?
Shall I be content with the old sin?

Or can it wane?

But here I am at the old site of commemoration
Rewriting myself, and perhaps
this love is important. For all love
is subjective to the point of
pure selfhood.

So I shall come back again.
Tonight. Every night.
This poem shall change every night.
Watch this chameleon space.

It is your face.

A terribly thwarted textual construct.
Nothing more, nothing less.
A simulacrum of real love
Forever- changing, hyperreal mess.

7 comments:

the Lonestar said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
the Lonestar said...

Beautiful.
This is the first time I'm reading your blog and relating myself to every bit of what you have written there. Ei lekhata onekdin mone thakbe.
"But here I am at the old site of commemoration
Rewriting myself, and perhaps
this love is important. For all love
is subjective to the point of
pure selfhood." - Couldn't agree more.

precisely said...

This here is my favourite poem on love.

How trite that sounds.

But this is the most objective, clear-headed look at love that I have ever come across. Sensible love, if that is even possible. Stripped of all the emotional hibberty-jibberty - or not - if you know what I mean. (But there's always that ambiguity to love and the poetry that discusses it, is there not?)

I shall come back occasionally to this page, and read this poem. It clears my ghynaata-fied brain.

And yes - all love is subjective to the point of pure selfhood.

Madhuri said...

Beautiful and brilliant Ahona!

Bone said...

Hm(ph). But you won't work at it. Idiot.

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Torsa said...

"A simulacrum of real love
Forever- changing, hyperreal mess."
-Baudrillard shall be very happy to see his theory being put into such use, and you told me you were confused about PoMo theories!