36) Yeats

There are many forevers in love
Many terrors many loves many dives many
Deaths in love

Many lives lived in one love
Many loves lived in one life
Many loves died in one life

It’s never supposed to learn.

It is supposed to dive
Headlong into the abyss of opposite
Equations of pleasure
And despair this love.

Its supposed to keep you awake
At nights and die during days.
Die fifteen times a day

Its supposed to make you lie
Faceblank to someone you loved
Moments before you stopped loving him
And moments after you
Began loving him once again

Its against any
Kind of sober dried up plain
Monotonous routine of relationships…
In bubbles it lives
In bubbles it dies.
And in bubbles it sleeps
Like a polar bear readying itself
For the next summer of green veggies

And there are many polar bears.

And there is only one love
And only one summer
Only one true undying love and the rest
Are just shadows.

And shadows are perfect
Only shadows endure
On the power of guilt.
On the power of habit
On the power of truth
And on the power of friendship.

In true love there
Is no friendship, only death
In true love there is no life
Only bubbles
And only pain
And only folly
And only love
And poems…

And flame like, moth
In a fire like passionate moments,
Moth in a fire like passionate
Dense awesome deep and paining
Flame like moments which burn
And then scar and then burn
All over again.

Glimpses of suicide
Glimpses of life
Only recurring death.

Love lives ensconced in the flicker of bubbles
Love dies with flicker of bubbles
And bubbles continue popping up and down
And guilt makes us be perfect.
So called perfect

Many loves and one love
Many deaths and one life
Many lives and one love.

And each succeeding love better
And worse than before.

Context: I have always been fascinated by the unrequited love of Yeats for/and Maud Gonne. Very recently, I read that their love did once got consummated and only once… and after that he wrote: “the tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul.” Some loves are like that… And some people are meant to be together, even if it is for a few hours… and those few hours are many centuries…. Perhaps… and this poem was written in response to the same. It is dedicated to Yeats and it would be interesting to find out if there is indeed a metaphysical entity called love which functions in this way, which connects people across time and space. Or is it all just hogwash…

(05/02/18, 1351)

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