Chapaat v2.0

Monday, February 05, 2007

Ode to love - II

I run after love, how amusing if I catch it, how so wonderful if I don't now and so says submission. How rugged is the ego with sharp edges and I apply the silk of love, cream of submission and cover it with the smooth indifference.

I run after a variety of other things too, for after all, the heart in me contains loves of different kinds. Say the love of the ego or the love of a million other yearnings. I carry the load of expectation and bear the brunt of its repercussions. I will have to throw all these off as quickly - the expectation, the attachments, the ego and a gazillion other leeches - as possible and reduce this amalgamation of love, sublimate it to the most sublime state. Your love puts everything into a time warp, that iota of love, I mean to say. How amusing would perfect love be?

What indulges and allures one, must scare and scratch one. From what I seek joy by its mere presence shall burden me with agony by its sheer absence. The directions are opposite and the magnitudes are same, life adds up to zero, maybe. The coin take the form of both heads and tails, with equal probabilities. I want to get rid of the coin for once and for all.

When you speak, I listen with ardor and when you are spoken of I listen with zeal. I wish I could love your talk for infinities to come, how wonderful would that be. The moment when that fire dwindles, is of pain. I desire the fire. How soothing it is to be steeped in love and having a thought no other. When the head of a toblerone is severed and the T-block melts in your mouth, that sweetness, that stimulation of the tongue is nothing as compared to when your sweet, lofty thought embraces me.

The anger that burns minds, is like the forest fire that burns the tender plant of love. What I cannot digest is that if one loves another, doesn't the heart become so tender, so mellow as to not being able to hate anyone else? Doesn't it render the person devoid of anger? If one wave of the sea is loved, how can hate for another one flourish?

When I know the ways of the world, why do I not accept them? When I know the human is not the possessor of his own mind but only a slave in the hands of countless urges, how can I blame anybody? When I know that everybody is inherently good but with actions vile due to desires that extend perfect ascendancy over poor mortals, how can anybody be hated? When each action one does is 'right' for the moment according to his knowledge, why can anybody not be forgiven? When I know the movement of the hand can either slap or caress, why am I not prepared for both?

Let me not maunder into questions that are not questions but sincere hopes. Let me be grateful to the soul that can love. Let me be ever sanguine for more love and more love and still more. Let me know that there exists no limit, the ever increasing, tending to infinity, the unreachable. What a ridiculous way to represent an emotion of such grandeur with a handful letters? L-o-v-e? How ridiculous is language, even trying to represent it; how limited is it; how superficial; how inaccurate. But this is the best tool we have to convey our message across to others? What others? What others do I care of? Why does anybody need my message? Why does anyone have the need to glance at my emotions? The others are as temporary as anything else. How amusing is evanescence. The desirable and the dreaded, both end.


I concern myself with nothing more than what I need most - love. Tonnes of it! Let my heart be as tender as cotton, as smooth as silk, as warm as wool. Let it be saturated with your love and let it still want more, the greed of love. Wow!

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