Love Song Minus All Myths Poem by Raj Arumugam

don’t ask me what’s it all about
no platonic ideals about love
and birth of love in myths and fables;
or discourses about marriages made in Heaven
but all I want to say is
I’m in love with you;
and yes, it’s the sort of love
(as in the common love, the usual love
the one everyone has except ascetics and saints and liars)
so it’s the sort of love
when I’m always thinking of you
when you’re not here
and I want to be inside each other
when we’re together;
the love that draws the stallion to its mare in the free fields
the love of angels with tips of wings touching each other
and hand in hand;
yes, there’s that in the love that is mine for you



yes, it’s the sort of love
in which one sings and writes poems
no matter how bad one’s voice and weak the verse;
still it’s the impulse-love I know for you
it’s the love that throbs both in my heart and private parts;
nothing divine, nothing indecent
a love without labels and categories
and no judgment
but realistic love
that is pain in absence and joy in union;
really I don’t see eternity
like liars put in their claims to preference in love;
all I know is that what moves within me
and creeps in my flesh
is the love-demand for you;
it’s the love-urge that makes its presence felt in quiet rhythms
and music and harmony in the mind
and it’s the love-lust that is vigorous as a ravenous beast tearing its prey apart;
Oh, it’s love that is subdued and that is yet surging and breaking
like violent waves over ocean rocks;
no, there are no theories and revelations about this love;
yes, no sanctions here by the Divine and the priest
no intermediaries and no texts like the Kama Sutra
and it’s no love that starts in heavenly spheres
but it’s the earthly love and fleshly desire
that begins and ends here on planet earth;
that flowers in the mind at the right cues
and that ends as at the end of erections and orgasms
and yet always renewed;
so don’t ask me what’s it all about
no platonic ideals about love
or discourses about marriages made in Heaven
but all I want to say is
I’m in love with you
and yes, it’s the love that will make no promises
but delivers itself, and its subject;
hardy, fleshy, earthy and hooked on to meteors
bound to stars and dreaming about moons;
Oh, a love that is not concrete, not concrete, not concrete
and yet a love physical, physical, physical
with sensations and feeling but no ideals
a love-spontaneity
that wants to bite you and tear you apart
while you in turn devour me as ancient cave-beasts
fed on the smelly, unwashed, unsuspecting traveler;
it is messy, it is messy, it’s messy;
it is love, indeed, it is love of the uncategorized sort,
darling, darling – sweet, sweet, heavenly darling -
of the unclassified sort, of one in the other;
it is love found in the instinct of the self and the species
as natural as what a male frog and a female frog
may do in good time and in each other’s company;
O, I’m in love with you
as a firefighter wants to put out a fire;
and yes, it’s the sort of love
as in the common love, the usual love
the one everyone has except ascetics and saints and liars