Days grow bleaker
with her breathing familiarity.
Is it she I loved
or the tangy taste of novelty?
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Days grow bleaker
with her breathing familiarity.
Is it she I loved
or the tangy taste of novelty?
Like A Feather... 
… love is always novel …
interesting point of view and one that i happen to concur with..:)
Dear NotR, I suppose it is, but how many human beings do you know who approach love with the freshness of a new find? 🙂Dear misha, I gather you would, going from some of the content in your blog! 🙂
“I suppose it is, but how many human beings do you know who approach love with the freshness of a new find?”…and how many people do you know who actually find it?
hahahahaha :-))Stumped! 🙂I agree with you entirely. Recently I was chatting with a dear friend of mine about love and “popular love”. She’s in love and hence her opinions were understandably rose tinted!! 😉I think even those who find it, eventually love themselves more than another person… 😐
Glad I made you smile…(But, am I not the one who has been raised on western cynicism?)“She’s in love and hence her opinions were understandably rose tinted!!”Yes! That’s the point.Actually, one needs a healthy sense of self to nurture love…My aunt and uncle held hands well into their nineties…he wrote her poetry and she made him candlelight dinners, both gigled like teenagers in each other’s presence and each housed a healthy respect for the other all their lives…Anyone in their pressence could not help but smile.Possibilites, possibilities.
Seriously? 😮 Your aunt and uncle are sure one classy pair, then. I really think it is always about enthusiasm (funny, I just finished a conversation with an old school friend of mine and I was telling her the same thing). If one lacks it, in any relationship, then there really isn’t much left… IMHOThis post rose out of a conversation I had with a few friends. I really dislike talking about love (people seem to like it a lot, esp. when they are recently in it 😉 and wanted to end it asap. So I asked them: Is it the freshness and the inexperienced “thing” (it could be a lot of things) that holds their attention, or is it truly love that keeps renewing itself and is never like what it was yesterday? Either the length of the question or complexity in it, shut them up and let us move on to other things… 😐I so enjoy your comments on this blog… thanks for stopping by!
Lovely poem..as usual..
Dear Sangeets, Long time… glad you liked the poem! “As usual”? 😮 You really are generous with compliments! 🙂
<>I think even those who find it, eventually love themselves more than another person<> It is not that thou lovest thy son because thou desirest him, but thou lovest thy son because thou desirest thine own soul. This is from the Upanishads!!! Perhaps we love because we see our own self in a higher sense in the other person…
Who is your muse?Okra
Hi A, That is an interesting perspective!Hi Okra, The muse is everywhere!!! Were it one then I could give you a name!! She might be you (I so hope you are a woman and not a man!!) and others too… Ok, chaff apart. There really isn’t a muse or anyone like that. Something randomly popped into my head while in conversation!!
Unless she had something more to her than her tangy taste of novelty, and you had something more in you that can perceive something in her besides her novelty, bleakness will definitely set in with familiarity..This is a given – that bleakness, boredom, an ever running thread of sadness and dissatisfaction will set in by and by…