“through the act of living, the discovery of oneself is made concurrently with the discovery of the world around us. . ."

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

Eruptions of Love


In the mountains, high up in the grasslands
Where mist swirls; where every blade of grass
Is wet with dew –
Tread softly, for you are trampling upon beads of love.

Love erupts slowly, the moist soil swells –
As you watch, it surges, drips
Drop by drop.  Press your face onto the soil -
On your nose, your lips, your tongue
Love spreads into your blood.

Love erupts at the tips of your fingers, my love!
Caress my face, touch my lips!
Run your fingers over my ravaged face
Over my ageing skin; perhaps it will glow again
At your touch!

Love spurts, my dear, red beads of blood
As you tear into me in ecstasy!
Love, Love, as you hold me in your arms,
Flares fly high; I am blinded by the light!

Love flows only from your fingertips –
Touch me when you love –
And – before you leave, for ever…



****** Balachandran V, Trivandrum 03.11.2015

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