This love of mine
May grow into yours
But it is not of yours
It is my love
You ask of me
I ask of you
And of myself
I keep asking
Like a man exiled
I dream of a feast
To satisfy all and more
Knowing how unreal I get
I imagine, I project
I see fulfilment
Clear as night sees day
Such is the difference
A pensive thought I release
The wonder and joy of you
Let me kneel and lay
My hand to be lain by you
Moving cascading truth
Demanding my truce
No more lamentful lament
The ending of my endless day
Personal take
A common tale indeed. The love we have for another is not necessarily requited. The sureness we have about our feelings, our desire, and our very lust leads us to head into a world of plot and fantasy. We are so convinced by the magnetic hold the other has over us we feel that it will be reciprocated and all will be hunky- dory. The opening paragraph owns up to this very predicament but it does not lead to a greater realisation of things but more to an agenda of persuasion, shared vision … and then sudden realisation that it may not necessarily end as we wish. The thought, the hope can be all-consuming and the only hint of respite comes as the day itself draws near … but in full knowledge that the process will start again the moment sunrise breaks and our waking moments will again be of fantasy and despair.