Skip to main content

The Cruel Love Form Either Meaning Tears Sestina

They ask me to write poems on love.
They ask me not to make it cruel.
But it should not be funny either.
It must follow some poetic form.
It must be rich and deep with meaning.
It should move people, but not to tears.

Why should it not move people to tears?
Because they cry when they fall in love
For no reason and without meaning.
That's because love itself is cruel
and causes grief in its every form.
One cannot escape from it either.

It is not even funny either.
One spends all one's time shedding tears
And meditating upon the form
Of whatever being is one's love
Who is in general very cruel
And will get upset without meaning.

One wastes one's time looking for meaning.
One never finds it. One will either
die frustrated or suffer cruel
punishments. But no one spares tears
for stupid people who fall in love
And think it is divine in some form.

It is not divine in any form.
It is senseless, devoid of meaning.
the rational do not fall in love
They do not play with venom either.
They are therefore immune to tears
And don't suffer barbs that are cruel.

Protect yourself, do not be cruel
And you'll escape peril in this form.
There is no surrender to tears
Or a vain, fruitless search for meaning.
And people will not taunt you either.
There are no advantages in love.

Be free from tears and all things cruel,
Keep far from love and thus keep your form
it has no meaning, nor does this either.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

She's complicated

She's complicated. She'll charm you with charts, statistics and that corporate smile. But look into those eyes, they're fiercely bohemian. She's complicated. Her chatterings seem to resonate with happy sounds, but listen with the other ear, to an unhidden lament. She's complicated. Her silences agonise, her voice echoes in her absence. And yet there is a mild dread as her name flashes on the ringing phone. She's complicated. Sometimes she's a poetess, shallow, romantic, trying to hide a sardonic, world-weary wit. She's complicated. She could be a spiteful Fury, wrath unabated, but that's just to hide the lamb-hugging girl within. She's complicated. She's an enchantress, a fool, a tyrant, a nurse, an imp, a priestess, but she's generally a good friend. She's complicated. Published in Making Waves - A Poetry Anthology , ed. Pam & Bill Swyers; Swyers Publishing 2011. ISBN: 978-0-9843113-6-1.

Mother

Mother has many names. Anak Krakatau might be one of them, Or Uttarkashi or Qinghai, Haiti certainly is. She's the mother that swallowed Maui into her womb, the mother that disarmed Karna, who led Oedipus to sin. She plays pranks too, in that cheerful way unique to her. We find strange names to give them - tsunami, hurricane. Kalki is another name we've given her, for when she will be an old woman looking for some kind of elixir of youth. Perhaps some quack will mislead her to find it in our blood. She has a heart of gold they say - pure, molten lava, that sometimes erupts on her skin like a ripe pimple. She loves nothing more than the sound of babies crying - orphaned, bloodied, hungry, dying their carcasses feeding hyaenas. But hyaenas are her children too. But she is the green mother who feeds us, clothes us, protects us from the sun's ionizing radiation, we came from her loins, which is where we go.

बर्फी की शादी - बालकविता

बर्फी के घर में शादी है, दुल्हा उसका लड्डू है, माला उसकी किशमिश है, चूडी उसकी काजू है, बादाम उसकी बाली है, चाँदी की उसकी चुनरी है! यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|