Thursday, July 12, 2007

On Mayakovsky-kind of Love

Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way streams silver through the night.
I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams
I have no cause to wake or trouble you.
And, as they say, the incident is closed.
Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind.
Now you and I are quits. Why bother then
To balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts.
Behold what quiet settles on the world.
Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars.
In hours like these, one rises to address
The ages, history, and all creation.



Some poets are really good at saying about love... like Mayakovsky did.

I ain't that good at writing, however I will give it a try here.

Love is a damn weird feeling

Sometimes I doubt its existence

It is not visible

No one can truly reach it

It is only felt and even those who feel it cannot be sure if that is what it is supposed to be

It is uncertain and rich

It is constructive and overwhelming

It is just needed to be accepted when it is meant to be


Last night, I dreamed of you
You came and took a piece of me
You came and could step on the same floor I was on
Your face was vague though, but I knew it was you
I barely talked to you
All I did was stare at your back
You even invited me for dinner
It was time for the real me to get up then
There was no dinner but you had that special piece of me
You carried along and kept
Can't wait to shut my eyes again
Can't wait to share the same floor and twilight room
I'll be sitting at a table, talking to a waiter:
"Bring me black coffee and a brunch skillet... Ah! And don't wake me up till I say so!"

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