Speaking of Love

Don’t look at me
with those forlorn eyes;
a disconsolate lover
who cannot find the words
for her last song.

I think not love needs,
for its dance,
your music or your ode.

Has not every poem, every sonnet,
every paean already been composed?
Every metaphor so overworked
that it lies, shrivelled and out of breath?

Has not every impassioned cry been heard,
more erudite, more foolish,
more strident, more gentle,
more feverish,
more forcefully restrained?

Put away your paper and your pen.
You will not serenade
love tonight.

Every single word
has been sung,
has been whispered,
has been screamed and sobbed;
is hiding unspoken,
creased and crumpled,
or has fallen, misunderstood,
into the broken silence.

Pic Courtesy Hemanth Shanthigrama

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18 thoughts on “Speaking of Love

  1. Yes, it has all been said, composed, overused in metaphors and the like, but when it is said to you by the love of your life, it all of a sudden becomes new again and you have no need to crumple that paper for it becomes valuable beyond belief 😉 Funny how that works!!

    Like

  2. I can relate to your feeling of ‘been there, done that…a million times, so why do it again?’, but I believe it is the human spirit, (and condition), to communicate that feeling/thought/idea, even though it has been said and done by the best, but ‘the best’s’ is not our own. We need to make it ‘ours’.

    Poppy

    Like

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