Love song

Oh dear, oh that smile again.

 

Now don’t worry, hang on there,

hold it tighter.

 

But I can’t, can’t control.

It just won’t stay,

my stupid heart, slipping away. 

 

Don’t, you fool, head for a heartbreak,

Don’t you remember how it aches. 

 

Yes but that red rose,

and that blue ribbon,

oh those green valleys?

 

Bubbles! All bubbles

all around you.

 

Splash! And there it went,

the heart, dived in the hollow,

which love she calls.

Love you fool is a bubble, I say.

A few sad poems is all that will stay.

6 thoughts on “Love song

  1. Nishit, not sad at all. This is just a poem, when the heart gets romantic poetry happens, what to do :P

    @Vijesh, thanks. Nostalgic hmm, heartbreak eh. Oh we all have our shares haven’t we.

    Like

  2. Sanjukta!
    Beautiful! Reminds me of a great one –
    ————————————-
    I can write the saddest lines tonight.

    Write for example: ‘The night is fractured
    and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance’

    The night wind turns in the sky and sings.
    I can write the saddest lines tonight.
    I loved her, sometimes she loved me too.

    On nights like these I held her in my arms.
    I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky.

    She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
    How could I not have loved her huge, still eyes.

    I can write the saddest lines tonight.
    To think I don’t have her, to feel I have lost her.

    Hear the vast night, vaster without her.
    Lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass.

    What does it matter that I couldn’t keep her.
    The night is fractured and she is not with me.

    That is all. Someone sings far off. Far off,
    my soul is not content to have lost her.

    As though to reach her, my sight looks for her.
    My heart looks for her: she is not with me

    The same night whitens, in the same branches.
    We, from that time, we are not the same.

    I don’t love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.
    My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her.

    Another’s kisses on her, like my kisses.
    Her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes.

    I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her.
    Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long.

    Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms,
    my soul is not content to have lost her.

    Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer,
    and these are the last lines I will write for her.

    Pablo Neruda

    Like

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