Is there a way to hold a question? Not as close
as lust, closer than fear, arms closed to the
answer? Or is that the way the question holds
you? In this monsoon, as evening turns to night,
without drama, I try to write a love poem, without
tropes, without the moon, objectively — without
love. But too much is made of love which, like life,
is passion in passing, matter in transformational
happenstance: only this thought, born of thought,
nameless, formless, can last unchanged forever —
love like a question will outgrow your hands, learn
to walk, yearn to walk away: only this thought will
stay — that, for a while, love felt warm, like it
belonged, as if, for a while, it was the closest answer.
But if we do not hold love in our hands even for its brief life, we will be the poorer for it.
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That too!
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So many facets to love and life. Transience, depth, comfort, reason.
A very contemplative poem Rajani
Happy Sunday, enjoy the monsoon season, stay safe
Much💝love
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Thank you, Gillena.
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Love is like a roller coaster. It’s a helluva ride, and you hope everyone is still on board at the end!
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Indeed. Thank you, Beverly.
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Is it silly that I’m smiling because the moon found a way in anyway?
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Was hoping someone would pick up on that… thanks so much! Am a much happier poet now, thanks to you!
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This feels dipped in eternity–that in-between, unlit space where all the possibilities are and then warms at the end to what comes to pass.
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Thanks so much!
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This really speaks to me, how even love learns to walk and grows up.
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Thank you, Colleen.
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This is incredibly gorgeous writing, Rajani! Especially love; “But too much is made of love which, like life, is passion in passing.” 💝
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Thanks so much, Sanaa.
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Those last two lines just ache of wanting answers but being a bit afraid of them too…or simply finding out what you thought was the answer turned out to be just so much smoke and mirrors.
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The quest, the discovery, the mirage.. yes, that about sums it up! Thanks, Rommy.
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Lyrical. And oh! This poem was the perfect company for my morning tea and this weather full of old memories. I am glad it felt warm and it belonged for a little while
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🙂 Thank you, Namratha.
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How beautiful / how sad.
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Thank you, Rosemary!
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Here’s a poem full of double meanings. Is too much laid at love’s feet, or are too many things made of love? I’ve had the little nuggets in retrospect and am now working on letting God’s love come through me. About the lust/fear options–let me offer a third: wonder. Wonder is another double meaning word, both of which hold love and me. Love this puzzle of a poem!
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Aah Susan, always the perfect reader who elevates the poem! Thanks so much! Indeed what will be without the questions, without wondering, without letting wonder fill us… !! Much of what we take for granted comes unstuck in the long monsoon!
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Sigh. So lovely, with such a beautiful closing. Loved the lines about love learning to walk, then walk away. Which, it seems, it so often does. “Yet, for a while, it felt warm, like it belonged.”
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Thanks so much, Sherry.
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