Counting love.
(A poem dedicated to my Good friend William. A forebearer of God’s lantern, to those of us in sickly state)
A lover needs a beloved.
Will seek out – relentless,
Until its head laid on soil,
Its body sowed,
A lifetime foregone
To touch without touching
Is his fate.
In love’s reasoning of unbreakable distance
Amongst nature’s atom.
Neither an electron known
(- a flyer about yearning poles;)
Nor of its stationed core
(- demented to combine;)
Would breach worldly bonds.
Yet laws govern his being,
His breath,
His hardened bones.
To have thought it but mere waste
Is his cocooned fate;
Inside orbs,
Within sugared fence
That sparkle in distance
- yet never to taste
She is my Saturn at worst
I – her scattered dust,
and a dervish of fate.
Entangled in queues,
Encircling in never-ending wait of balance.
A mass to a weight,
To love’s gravity,
To numbers attributed
And scales defined
within metrics and traits.
Ask the moons tonight,
to number their love?
And say, “why come you not a step,
to beloved’s arm?”
A mule to his word,
Lunacy grows
- each month redeemed,
As ovulating seas caressed, embrace affection.
So love is a system of pushes and pulls.
A lap-dance of matter,
Untouched in brewing,
Cause to humour
to Jupiter’s tumour.
As desire grows
To the winking stars
Flirting in SOS codes
And laws are forced to hold
Where universal love grows,
The rush will unfold
to reunite at source
where lovers once broke up
in fire and smoke.
With gravity exposed,
The lover’s force
- a mass of hope
is gathered and thrown to beloved.
Like Newton told, the mirror’s drawn,
Shown clear reflection
To stellar affection
I love you – so let’s meet too,
Where love dropped into world, and then grew!
Spread out to seek its beloved,
Before, search-ended – it dropped back towards soul,
At the fingerprint of God,
Where it’s beloved was at birth.
Yet I see, when we get too close, we’ll never know
Or a scratch to show.
But a burning will suffice,
Repellent of matter,
our bodies will once more grow,
And outwards we will go,
When we find no God at home.
We’ll return for sure,
yet in what worldly form?
A cell we are at most –
The fate of life was always told
in an atom.
As the lover I seek,
to love and to hold.
Yet in worldly seeking is told (utmost),
My beloved, I will never touch
- this much I know.
