Tuesday, April 27, 2010


I used to say if you die for me
I would cover my grief with a graceful solemnity.
And even if you return to hold me again
I shall not break the harmony of sorrow.
It might sound like too much of thinking
And too much of poetry far from the truth
But poetry can share sufferings unlike many
The healing is delayed, deliberately, for good.
And now that you are dead for me,
I have set my words free, so that they are understood.


  1. This is a brilliant piece. I really mean it. This is brilliant!

  2. What is love?
    It is that powerful attraction towards all that we conceive, or fear or hope beyond ourselves, when we find within our own thoughts the chasm of an insufficient void, and seek to awaken in all things that are a community with what we experience within ourselves. If we reason we would be understood; If we imagine, we would that the airy children of our brain were born a new within anothers; If we feel we would that another's nerves should vibrate to our own , that the beams of their eyes should kindle at once and mix and melt into our own, that lips of motionless ice should not reply to lips quivering and burning with the heart's best blood. This is love.