In those days, you asked me, innocently,
‘why do you love me?’.
I answered with vague things.
I spoke about our great, winding conversations,
about your eagle’s wings, your sparrow’s heart,
about your knife-like fingers,
your face that floats as a lotus in water,
about how your lap is the lap of the sea
and your arms are cradles,
and your breasts! your breasts!
You didn’t believe me.
‘why do you love me?’, you asked me,
‘why do you love me so much, with such strength
and tenderness, as if without it, your whole world would fall apart?
Aren’t there? Aren’t there other women
with eagle’s wings? with sparrow’s heart?
whose arms are cradles?’,
you asked me again and again and again.
my love, may be I should have spoken
about your neck
that sparks off memories missed.
may be I should have spoken
about your hair
that smells of lovers dead.
may be I should have just taken your face
in my palms, and answered you, once for all,
with a deep, deep kiss.
This poem is part of the Poetry Book Oblivion