In the childhood stories
The marked eye of the bird
That forever slays the demon
That is love.
Love is
That teenage tension
That made the compulsory re-vision
The day before the examination
A joy.
Love is the ecstacy
Each time one
Yet again attained
The impossible.
Love is
The pit in the stomach
The silent scream
As the leaping flames
Consumed forever
The dead 'body' of a much loved 'soul'.
Love is
All that is intensely felt
On the pulse
As the rebellion against banal boredom.
Love is
That eternal faith
Abloom again
despite
every deception
each negation.
Love is
Yet again
The knowing of the self.
Love is still again
Sailing in a leaking little boat
As around howls and rages
The storm drunk ocean
And swing waves high as the heaven.
Love IS!
Pratima@Love is/the fairy tale/that made/every word a charm/that crafted all possible as the probable/as the real/beyond every Plato, each Aristotle.
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