can writing about love be passé tad overdone? no, never
there is so much to love,
a veritable Smörgåsbord in sights, sounds, emotions, songs, poems and all those beating hearts that resound with love in all its more than fifty shades –
everything has an aching beauty that makes my eyes smart involuntarily, heartbeats quicken, catches in my throat choking as I silently clap and weep at same time-
such is life’s bounty-
we are all brigands of love in its splendored glory made keener when its lost and found- there is an innate joy in everything
Even when stuck in a pitiful morass of depression, I found a firefly –
a tremulous feeling of hope as I grabbed that last straw and
fumbled my way back to life –
I am a diehard romantic
hopelessly in love with life
longing to bid goodbye
as every ending is a new
adventure in the making
Painting is by Renoir
The feeling of longing
for something or someone
who you love and which is lost.
Or as Manuel de Melo has put it,
“A pleasure you suffer, an ailment you enjoy.”
there is an inexpressible sense of cozy comfort knowing that you’ve fully loved someone who even though, no longer a physical presence in your life, still thrives as a crucial part of your mind, your soul and continues to lend impetus to your imaginatively woven scenarios of “what ifs” “if only” speculative tangential wanderings giving daily life an intriguing twist and turn – an intrinsic part of life’s fabric of you as a whole
Sands fall, scaring
Gaps in names
Hair, time to let
For heart to heart
Are those precious
Gems that need
To be enjoyed
Collecting money from turning in recyclables, she bought lottery tickets. Prayers
had been futile. Determinedly, she scratched. One ticket was a perfect match.
She’d won million jackpot. Falling on her knees she thanked the Madonna.
A gentle voice replied, “Child I did hear you and once you did your part, I did mine. Bless you”.
They’d written him off. Relegated to nondescript office, he felt like a used newspaper.
After years of loyalty, he’d become redundant. It was time to collect his debt.
Biting the bullet, he made the call. Next day he was reinstated with alacrity amidst
great fanfare of backslaps and sheepish apologies. “Given word” bore much clout.
“Ella, you cannot win.” screamed Bella. Pretty and spoiled she’d become a bully. Plain Ella had a fine mind. Being younger, she’d let Bella win. Their socialite parents favored Bella over Ella except granny. Hoping to win parent’s love and attention she decided to outshine Bella by fully applying herself. Next day, she stood first.
He: “I love you dearly”. She: “Prove it”
Overcome by passion he nodded and left.
Blind rush led to his fall
“Are you hurt son?” cried the bleeding fallen heart.
He shook his head. Miraculously his besotted mind cleared.
Guilt ridden and heartbroken he realized the supreme difference
Between the two loves and wept bitterly.
*****adaptation source: (wiki)
FIRST IRANIAN MASTER OF COLLOQUIAL POETRY
Prince Iraj Mirza (1874–1926) (titled Jal?l-ol-Mam?lek), son of prince Gholam Hossein Mirza, was a famous Iranian poet. He was a modern poet and his works are associated with the criticism of traditions
Iraj Mirza Jalaalol-Mamalek, mostly known as Iraj, who was the first Iranian master of colloquial poetry.
Among many poems that Iraj composed, his well-known poems include Satan (in Persian: Ebleess),
In Satan, Iraj explains how a wife maliciously complains about her mother-in-law, and encourages her husband to kill his own mother and bring the heart for her. The young man, ignores the respect due to his mother, pushes her to the ground, cuts her chest and takes her heart out. As he walks toward the door, all of the sudden, he falls and injures himself. He then clearly hears his mother’s heart cry out: “Oh! My son’s hand got cut. Oh! My son’s foot was hurt!” In this poem Iraj plainly presents the evidence of an Unconditional Love.
** image is from internet only -disclaimer