Making love is no love.
It is actually a travesty of the same.
Love has several connotations.
Physical love is no love.
It is actually creeping up
to be physical.
It is actually hunger to procreate.
It is not love.
By giving it the name of love
we resort to cheating.
But most of us do it
for we know we will not be there for long.
Love is sacrifice,
a feeling going beyond the self,
understanding.
What we usually call love
is actually travesty of the same.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An insightful piece of poetry, well articulated and nicely penned with conviction. Thanks for sharing, Kundu.