In Search of True Love
What is love?
My beloved asked me.
I had never thought of it before.
I chewed Words Worth, my favorites
And I said nature the love
She called me pagan.
I loved her more than myself
And answered you are my love.
She said I was possessive.
I read Shelly the strongest
I was washed out by the West Wind
The depth of love, lust, power
I went to Frost with delight
And came back with wisdom
I knew I had miles to go
Before I could answer what is love.
I saw Gibran speaks in the valley of olive leaves
He beckoned me and I followed him
I was crowned, crucified and wounded
I knew the pain of love, the ecstasy too.
Keats the owner of immortal melodies conveyed
Love known is sweet but sweeter is unknown
I was confused and waited.
It was sweet to wait for your footsteps
Though you would never come
Tagore taught me the art of waiting
I am summoned by the master.
Love is a beacon and it is not altered
But I am shaken when Shakespeare told this
We travel in search of love
Until we die finding no answer.
My beloved had gone to sleep
And never woken up to listen to my melodies.
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Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
Rainer Maria Rilke
(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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