February 6, 2017 by Rivky

A poem.
To history do I surrender the notion of Western love?
Somewhat romantic but I, denying everything in pairs
Wandering utterly alone
Pondering a butterfly flown, single, in her garden
Beside a stream and cobble stone
Cocooned and heartened, made of silkened hairs
In her womb, begging pardon
Fluttering despairs
Is she free.
Her madness is treasure –
For what is her pleasure bereft of her cry?
Seasons are turning without age, without affection
Tulips may grow, Tulips may wilt…and Two lips may die
Reasons are burning sage wisdom and reflection
They bicker and grow, even their sorrow I spy
Well who am I to hide from whimsy fairy tale dreams
Afraid to gently frolic, to swim this soil earthy
Of mysteries magic ride but saved for king and queens?
Thinking foolishly that I am but am I, just I – unworthy?
Hence, to history I surrender the notion of Western love
Unquestionably, to nature’s motion continuing her themes.
Foolish as it seems.
What would Saint Valentine say?
A lovely day to love and then to be forgotten.
Love should be declared, proclaimed and dispensed
from the moment it is felt…until the moment your
last breath is held.
Release it, give it, share it, take it…
From all the secrets we keep contained in ourselves -LOVE- should not be one of them.
I Love YOU.

2 thoughts on “TULIPS MAY DIE

  1. Michael Lebovic says:

    Beautiful, moving. Rivky you are a profound poetic observer of the human condition.
    You have a truly unique ancient soul.
    Keep sharing your writing with us

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