I think of my mother lying awake in those arms that could crush her. When he turns his back to me now, I think: disappear. So faith hits me late, if at all faith that this latest love won't end, or ends in the shapeless sleep of death. A gift, perhaps, I've tossed out, having been always too willing to fly to the next love, the next and the next, certain nothing was really mine, certain nothing would ever last. How do people stay true to each other? When I think of my parents all those years in the unmade bed of their marriage, not ever longing for anything else-or: no, they must have longed there must have been flickerings, stray desires, nights she turned from him, sleepless, and wept, nights he rose silently, smoked in the dark, nights that nest of breath and tangled limbs must have seemed not enough. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date”. There was a time I stood and watched The small, ill-natured sparrows’ fray I loved the beggar that I fed, I cared for what he had to say, I stood and watched him out of sight Today I reach around the door And set a bowl upon the step My heart is what it was before, But it is winter with your love I scatter crumbs upon the sill, And close the window,-and the birds May take or leave them, as they will.ħ “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day
I water them and turn them south, I snap the dead brown from the stem But it is winter with your love,- I only tend and water them.
I know a winter when it comes: The leaves are listless on the boughs I watched your love a little while, And brought my plants into the house. I light the lamp and lay the cloth, I blow the coals to blaze again But it is winter with your love, The frost is thick upon the pane. My heart is what it was before, A house where people come and go But it is winter with your love, The sashes are beset with snow. I have my Love, what more can I obtain? Mine is the joy of her companionship Whose healing lip is laid upon my lip – This is enough for me! - excerpt from “No Lover of Hypocrisy” by HafizĤ Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom.ĥ Love adorns itself it seeks to prove inward joy by outward beauty. Presentation on theme: "What is “true love” and how do writers approach this topic?"- Presentation transcript:ġ What is “true love” and how do writers approach this topic?Ģ to hate is an easy, lazy thing but to love takes strength everyone has but not all are willing to practice - Rupi Kaur
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