Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Separation-II: MUSE




Of the passion that we shared
When we
Last kissed;
Of the times you silently cried
And these moments,
I missed…
I live in the longing,
And regret;
Lest I forget
How it all felt…
And still,
Make acquaintance
With this
Gargantuan distance..
Yet, somehow
Console my heart,
Which plays
Its part,
In this systematic abuse,
I call LIFE
To which I put myself through;
Everyday…
And you ask me;
“Is our love so painful?"
"Is it so abstruse?”
To which I smile;
And give you
The eternal excuse,
“Love, you aren’t just my love;
You are my MUSE”.

9 comments:

Divita said...

Hmmm... :-)

seems like you were in a hurry to pen down your thoughts.

Arthur Dent said...

If you look at the time stamp, it says "5:36 PM"- Office hours can give you only as much luxury :-) Plus blogger was playing truant and was not allowing spaces where I wanted, for some strange reason.

Divita said...

Yeh, blogger did that we me too once - check out my poem called A Handful of Nothing. A bad piece of poetry turned worse by crazy Blogger.

Arthur Dent said...

I have read it. And the Post script that was with it.

Though I would disagree with the bad piece of poetry part. It's just that most people could not get the context and therefore the poetry and those who did, did not put an opinion as the context was too personal.

Divita said...

So, would you agree that the post was fairly well written? :P

Arthur Dent said...

You are looking at the wrong place for that answer. Maybe you need to be at a place that is slightly "anachronous" and not full of pseudo intellectual cow dung. :-)

Divita said...

Gotcha :)

Divita said...

Does this mean the lover and the muse are different identities?

Arthur Dent said...

Sometimes lovers do not realize that they are serving a symbiotic purpose of being each other's muse; i.e. what they feel mutually extends beyond the four chambers of the 'heart' and the corporeal world the 'five senses' show. It's an unfortunate scenario if the lovers are not each other's muse, as then, there will always exist a perennial craving of satiating that desire that only a muse can satisfy. Love can at times be just carnal, musings can just be intellectual; you mix the two- what you'd get might just be magical..