I CAN'T WRITE A LOVE POEM

Now I can't write a love poem,
I don't have enough words,
Every woman who has ever been wooed
By a poet, has heard them all before,
The path of love is paved with ears
That have popped hearing the same
Old things,
You are this, you're that, like a brook,
Like a tree, like a star, you are my galaxy,

BAH! I have devised my own ways.

I'd like to say for instance, that your eyes,
Like diamonds twinkle with the tiniest crinkle
Of your smile, so instead I say, I'd like to make
You smile,

Or I'd like to put across the fact that your
Hair, is darker than the night, when the
Moon can't decide if it wants to sleep or rise,
And it's silky, like the kiss of velvet on
The side of my face, right about here,
So instead I say, I'd like to bury my face
In your tresses,

And you laugh, I'm being dramatic, you insist,
Besides, only your grandma uses that word,
And there we go again,
All the best words taken by octogenarians;

And when you ask me, "How do I look?"
I want to say, you look like a million bucks,
But instead, I say nothing, because you look
Beautiful, and sunsets are beautful,
Babies are beautiful, occasionally even the weather
Is beautiful, and we say it so often,
That even when we mean it, it says nothing,

Fortunately, you are wise as you are pretty,
And you know that words fail, but instead
You might tease me, and insist that I couldn't care
Less even if you wore your grandma's dress,

When in fact, I would go crazy caring
About that, she's a little old lady,
And you are tall, and her dress would fall well
Short of your knees, that would look fantastic,
But it wouldn't be fair,
After all, what would your grandma wear?

So being a man, solutions are hard wired,
Though you firmly believe they are not required,
I can offer one nevertheless, a sign,
When I close my eyes and stupidly grin,
You should know, I think you are fine,
Your eyes, your hair, your dress,
And even your grandma sometimes.

Or forget everything that I've just said,
And we'll leave those words and signs behind,
We'll walk hand in hand, swinging our arms,
Hushing every thought that breaks silences,
"Shh", we'll say, and we'll do this,
With twinkling eyes,
We'll put a finger on each others lips.
Shh. Shh.

by Tarun Durga

Email: tarundurga@gmail.com