Monday, August 15, 2011

Love, Poetry and Aftermath

And when those poets spoke of love, red roses and dewdrops
They did not talk of the arguments- the disappointment of not being understood,
Of the days his eyes went red in anger, and her's in tears
Of the long nights when sleep grew to become an elusive stranger
Of the flowers falling off the garland of love, and the thin thread stretching to elastic
To bear this. Even this.
Wonder why they did not imagine, the days when the magic of "love" faded away,
And the sparkling colors of the rainbow turned a dull gray
Of the days after love died, though when alive it was true
Of the days when love died, but only after killing you.
Maybe the poets were never successful in love to witness its aftermath
Maybe love is truly beautiful only in dreams...
Only in dreams.

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