Love is a strange feeling, isn't it?
Beautiful, ethereal.
An abstract emotion that somehow with its fragile threads ties up so many people
together in so many ways.
Love is like a sinking ship, isn't it?
But a ship one does, at times, prefer to sink with rather than live a spectral existence without the essence of it to soothe the soul. I have not been able to decipher what love means actually. I did ask so many, young, old... each had one's own definition, one's own sweet way of looking at it. A friend of mine simply said, 'some things hold the most beautiful of meanings in life as long as you do not try to analyze them.' So should I stop contemplating? Will it come to me someday?
{ If clay is all that I get, I shall mould it into my own figurine, if blue is the only colour I find, I shall mix it with water, I shall paint different shades and the canvas will be as colourful and as expressive as any other, if these directionless words are all that I get to read, the beautiful poetry, the words of the one I crave for, I will, in my soul direct them towards me...
Love, you shall come to me someday... I hope.}
October,2008
October,2008
love exists, because we insist on believing in its existence.
ReplyDeleteone cannot stop contemplating, for the self scorching leads to awakening. and the act of awakening, for some, is love. :}