There is an opposite
Of love
That is unlove
Not hate
That's absent from
the scene
Not present as hate
is
Watching
Intent
Noticing
Hate at least is there
forever vigilant
Maybe better for some
than this beast of uncaring
That mildly and insipidly answers
here when gone
And yes
without a thought
Yes indeed, there is an opposite
of love
That is not hate
That turns away from
the stray words and last thought
And on the budding dream
abstractedly closes the door
Gleefully perusing something else
closer and dearer....
But it will not say to hungry ears
a thought out no, nor contemplative perhaps,
or any such tiny tidbit
That would so please and delight
these hungry ears....
It is a kind of self-cauterization, a protective blankness where too much was invested. Better a beast of uncare than the ghost of a half-skinned steer. (This image comes from a chilling story by Annie Proulx)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
True that indifference is more painful than hate. Thanks