‘You called it obsession,

And I called it seduction.

You called it imaginary

And I called it Love’s Jaded City.’

 

Call it by any name,

Like the rose it will smell as sweet.

Dead leaves make soil

And dead loves make stars,

Always glittering and twinkling.

 

Still feeling jet-lagged,

After this long journeying,

Intoxicated with the wine of love,

She felt like a small keen wind

Strolling above the Indian Ocean

In all its moods and guises.

 

She saw the herons below, standing

Unfaltering while the gulls

And oyster-catchers screamed.

She looked at her reflection

In the water contentedly,

Her hair blowing in the wind,

While the columns of water

Rose like icons from the ocean.

 

She was excruciatingly honest with him,

Loved his artistic sensibilities

And drank water from his earthen pitcher.

He gave her beads,

In the colors of sea green,

Quetzal blue, gold, grey and silver.

And she gave him ties in the colors of the rainbow.

 

Both were Bodhisattvas,

Awakened sentient beings

and spoke only in whispers,on dark Summer nights.

 

In the smoky voice of Marlene Dietrich,

She said, ‘I am the stagnant pool

And you are the blue sea.’

And he replied, ‘platonic love is a harmonizing force.’

 

pramila khadun