We need this trigonometric time
and this idiosyncratic
angle of view, stealthily
pinpointed in that circle
of sewing feelings. You
must have been transforming
their arc sine
so many times to have triggered
their zero values.
Love has the same ratio as pi.
You're a pirate, not a lover.
It was told you, but
you haven't given up ever since.
Even so, love is still
my reality & keeps hope
in the philosophical number 2.
2 is not a number,
but a fundamental notion of a pair.
Too despaired to lose it, you make an effort
to save this
treasure called love
when you search
for the Divine.
And this is worth much more to you
than what you need to feel.
Our parallel lines of life are
tangents to this
circle of wills that
sends some secant
vibrations. The idea of never meeting is,
however, infinite. Your thinking
becomes a mystery.
You are my mysterious, unknown lover
being a part of any
equation.
This way, you become Mister Y.
You're Mister Y from
'yacking',
‘yelling', and
'for yourself',
but you cannot be Mister C from,
‘Carry on',
from ‘conscientious',
and from ‘credible'.
Our existence is getting old
in new concentric circles.
We try to extrapolate it to infinity. You may be
my semi-infinity, but.....
Poem by Marieta Maglas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem