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Love |
is a curiously interesting mixture
of the traditional ingredients we still use
to normally develop and feel good
for twenty-four hours a day. And
the dictionaries describe it as affection
for kids, grandparents, mums and dads,
and other family members such as
dogs and cats.
As the psychoanalysts of all the ranks insist
the most essential substance for this dish
is libido that stealthily comes first
accompanied sometimes by tender words
and often hides in the cellar of one’s mind
to strike its owner when he or she does not
expect this sudden blow to paralyze
or give rise to their history on the whole
or in particular.
Besides, I perfectly remember what
my teachers told me of this magic feeling -
when you meet it in your happy future,
put an endlessly huge portion of taboos,
bounden duties and holy obligations,
a couple of granules of your modest rights
(for keeping the balance - to realize
the principle of analogy and contrast)
in your love bowl.
Please don’t forget a pound of your smile
(I believe it was my sergeant’s slogan),
a quart of spicy sweat and tears if you haven’t
left them in the local cash and carry,
some mugs of tolerance, a bucket of
endurance for all the months and years
to break the code held by her exquisite
and vivid mind.
Of course, you may revise this boring recipe
according to your busy days and nights
or to the flexible laws of dialectics
(the elder brother of a common sense)
to give the answer to this eternal question
by taking a decisive step
towards her dancing heart to reconcile
the form with content.
copyright 2007
Oleg
Semonov |
