If I were to be truthful
you would know that I do not simply love you
in happiness
and that I do not simply bend for you
as my eyes close, serene
But that also, sometimes
I hate you.
You warm me, calm me
and shine like the clean white sunlight
that silhouettes us every morning
when I wake up, loving you
from solaced nights, loving you.
You surprise me and humble me
with every reminder of how
I am alive
and I am alive with you.
And when you move to me,
and you know, and I know
how very small I am before you;
The way your words will hurt me,
The way I am so rooted
And the way I will be rooted;
I feel myself falter, withdraw,
Feel the soft, delicate gauze that swathes me
(which you caress with the hands I love)
press too close to this razor, tucked so quietly
Which cuts me, too.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
a beautiful poem, reminded me in a way of some of neruda's work, how love though it is love still posseses both hate and pride and competition. wonderful work. ben