Skip to main content

I may be in love, but cynically so



I hate to say it
but I say it nevertheless
that I get cynical
in thinking that I may be
in love with you

this story that I build
has a history to it
when I remember abstract things like
the movement of your eyes
when you looked at
your favorite dessert
while it rained
I believe that it would not be love
of the template, of the notion
of what it is
to be in love

Merely contemplating
and being nostalgic
are the constructs of
deep attachment, perhaps
is it love then?
or just a passing phase
or a yearning
just to see your face?

I have many other reasons to say
that it could not be love
as I am still searching the real meaning
in knowing who am I
If I am lost, what is love?
Is anyone capable of truly loving?

You are surely inspiring me
to write these words
this serendipity is baffling
on one hand I am still thinking
and being cynical
and on the other
I am transformed into
endless thoughts of calmness and compassion
when I think of you

will I think like this, forever
like a imbecilic philosopher?
or will I deconstruct this
phenomena of being enchanted?
what goes into my mind now?
when I neither deny
or accept
what is going into my mind?

by the end of this verse, am I still cynical?
maybe yes as I do not know who am I
when I think of you

Je déteste le dire
mais je le dis quand même
que je deviens cynique
en pensant que je peux être
amoureux de toi

 cette histoire que je construis
a une histoire à cela
quand je me souviens de choses abstraites comme
le mouvement de vos yeux
quand tu as regardé
ton dessert préféré
alors qu'il a plu
Je crois que ce ne serait pas de l'amour
du modèle, de la notion
de ce que c'est
être amoureux

 Contemplant simplement
et être nostalgique
sont les constructions de
attachement profond, peut-être
est-ce l'amour alors?
ou juste une phase passagère
ou un désir
juste pour voir ton visage?

 J'ai beaucoup d'autres raisons de dire
que ça ne pouvait pas être l'amour
comme je cherche toujours le vrai sens
en sachant qui je suis
Si je suis perdu, qu'est-ce que l'amour?
Quelqu'un est-il capable d'aimer vraiment?

 Tu m'inspires sûrement
écrire ces mots
cette sérendipité est déroutant
d'un côté je pense toujours
et être cynique
et de l'autre
Je suis transformé en
pensées infinies de calme et de compassion
quand je pense à toi

 vais-je penser comme ça, pour toujours
comme un philosophe imbécile?
ou vais-je déconstruire cette
phénomènes d'être enchanté?
Qu'est-ce qui me passe par la tête maintenant?
quand je ne nie pas
ou accepter
qu'est-ce qui me passe dans la tête?

 à la fin de ce verset, suis-je toujours cynique?
peut-être oui car je ne sais pas qui je suis
quand je pense à toi

Labels

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

My Seven Girlfriends

Out of my seven girlfriends Six and a half are married one is conscientiously married to her inner, juxtaposed situation the second is married to the innuendos of a rat race, sitting all day without a back rest even on a gloomy dark clouds day the third has chosen a man to quench her hunger of joint fallacies of anger, of greed, of plastic smiles the fourth has married the contours of self obsessed melancholic constructs fifth is an abstract piece of broken clay married to her enigma, which shows in her gaze the sixth is on an eclectic bond with her own split self, a merger of effervescent intellect and a cosmic zombie the first half of the seventh is unmarried lives that part as a quintessential single, open, vulnerable, desolate, creative the second half is married to her traverse past which insulates her from future decadence
2 comments
Read more

Is it love of a decadent kind?

The fact that deep down within me is a desire to be a philosopher doesn’t go down so well with what I feel as down and out human and I am in that mold now as I stop for a while and think of her She makes me appear as a lover when we cuddle up our emotions together and in the hazy shades of the day when she needs to drowse the fires of her insecurities I become her mother I don’t think I interchange the roles by choice every moment is undisclosed and beautiful even though chaotic When I dream of her we lose our inhibitions in the wildest of ways in the morning when I talk to her, I become her friend, again And, I do not touch her but we bare our soul, as naked as it can be and just after that emulsification of minds I become her soul-mate never to be apart in a non-worldly sense Surely there is an attraction Sometimes sublime and immaculate sometimes too boldly honest Sometimes a sinful construct W...
2 comments
Read more

Rise with you

  When the sun stretches its golden arms, and the morning whispers your name, I think of you, steady as the tide, warm as the hearth, a beacon in the quiet storm.   Your laughter, a melody that dances through the chaos, a song I hum when the world grows heavy. Your spirit, unyielding, a tree rooted deep, its branches reaching for the infinite sky.   In your presence, I am more. Not because you fill me, but because you remind me of the light I carry within. You are the mirror that reflects the beauty I often forget.   Together, we are a symphony— not perfect, but alive, each note a testament to the joy of being seen, of being known. You are my safe harbour, my compass in the wild, my friend, my love, my vista   And when the night falls, and the stars blink awake, I will rise with you not above, not below, but besides, always besides, in the quiet grace of this boundless love.   And when the night descen...
Post a Comment
Read more