The Song Of Love Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

My song of love, will you, will you like to hear it, it is for you,
For you that I have brought from far,
The song,
The song of love,
That, that wanted I to sing?

My love my heart and what sing I, sing I from my heart,
The song of love,
Which is your song, which is my song,
Which sing you, which sing I,
But still we know it not
Which is whose song,
Who is singing for whom?

My song, my song is the song of love, the garden in blossom
And the desertion of it,
The whirlwind breaking many plants
And the gardener weeping among the ruins
Seen through, envisaged

And when sing I, the photographs move they before,
Before the mind’s eyes,
My love dancing before me, my love singing
And lo, it is whistling,
Whistling a song,
Humming and singing.

It is my love that said I and it is your love which said you not,
Went I on saying about myself and heard you all silently,
Said you not a little of yours,
Which I too could not in my ecstasy
And I say it now that mine is a greater sorrow
To be let into words.

Their reminiscences, remembrances, sweet memories, I have not,
Love is not love if it merely tending to relationships,
Love is not love if comes it not as remembrances and reminiscences,
Where as I born, where are the with whom shared I my intimate moments,
Under whose care grew I,
Where the faces, where the lost tongue clicking,
Where the house and the images connected with it,
Where have I in search of job and employment,
And were shall I be one ay,
That one day, that come one day?