This you call love

[osho]

Trickery, hypocrisy, sham - the epitome of love
For all else one has the grip is in the flesh
For we ostentatiously hand on the essence of love
For the institution of love is built on quirkily wobbly ground
Anything can rock it
Have a tad knead
It crumbles beneath your walkway
Epics were written and is drifting mileage
A string of episodes follow in succession

Busying a horde of philosophers defining it
Signing up poets to write immortal verses

Alas, no love story can rise above and fall below the womb
The dirty ditch of a woman
This you call love
Time burst into a series of laughers
Since it has seen it in its fullest

And you have its littlest

[osho]

Shrinking sentiments

We are turned to stone
Lifeless meteors
In the current of eternity

LOVE was there well-defined
Epically illustrated and dramatized
All grieve on balance for their path to it is foggy

The love, the lover and the loved are one wisp of fog

Gone and gone the episode once the sun flares up the snowy build

Why drain your eyes
This pretext has come down to us through a poetic trail
Be man or woman enough
Wherein do not belie this whimsical thud
An otherness you crave leads to the loss of oneness

Rejoice in oneness whereon rests your true disposition

Groping in the dark eternities have been wasted
You end up with a delirium of melodramas

Foolhardily fumbling about for perpetuity
Rubbishing your sentiments
Keep up your own spirit aflame
Not of the otherness of the imagined












When I say you, it does not necessarily mean any reader in mind.