Though I loved you yesterday.
And today I love you still.
What guarantee is there that tomorrow,
We shall not indifferent be to each other?
Wondering what on earth it was all about.
Butterflies in the stomach.
A quickening of the pulse,
And a catch in the throat,
As the beloved appears,
To entranced and blissful gaze.
Such romantic folly, when it is just biology.
Survival of the species, and the drives,
That make us want to set up home,
Raise children, embarking on the adventure,
Of matrimony’s shared devotion.
Such folly. All that sweating.
All that groaning for a moment’s ecstasy.
Release of tension? Making babies,
In a bed for two. Then look across the
Table at a stranger there.
Such folly, if all it is, is sex.
An exercise in bonding, to give the offspring,
Security and a start in life.
Such folly! Even if it is a bleak alternative,
To a bleaker, colder life of emptiness alone.
Such folly? Then whence the poetry,
And the songs of love?
Where do they arise; those longings,
And fond memories of a sweet beloved’s face?
The lock of hair treasured secretly.
Why the photograph where she looks,
And he looks fondly at the other?
Love shining in their eyes.
Why does love shine in someone’s eyes?
Or do we just imagine it?
Are we taught by Mr. Mills,
And by Mrs. Boon, or by Hollywood, or Bollywood?
So boy meets girl.
And girl gets boy.
And both together achieve supremest bliss?
Is all we have, a set of dusty memories?
A fading picture, and a bundle,
Of letters tied up with ribbon?
A lock of hair inside a cheap and tawdry locket?
Or is there something more called “Love”?