5/28/17

Ashk snippet - I





She used to ask me often,

'You are a poet, an author. Why don't you ever describe my love? Not me..
But the way I love. Not the way we make love..
But the feeling that my love is..

Why don't you tell me if I am a storm or the gentle patter of the rains? No actually..
Not me, my love.. What's it's character to you?
Does it remind you of the constantly restless, unsettled desires & inquisitiveness of the Renaissance?
Or is it like the after shower of dust post an air-raid in World War II?
Or is it the rage, despair and audacity of the World War itself?

Why don't you ever write about the anchoring emotion of my love's personality?
Is it like a wild fire, or does it incite in you
the feel of touching the surface of the lake?
Is it grounded as a serene meadow besides a stream
or as flamboyant as a thunderstorm?

Does it smell like a crowded city night,
or like the sultry afternoon on a sea shore?
What taste of fear does it have? Like entering a volcano or a cyclone?'

And so she used to often ask me....

- Ashk

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