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A candid poem where the poet, Basudeb, looks within and analyses his own feeling of love, exclusively for Different Truths.
A Love Letter, written to my lady,
May not be a sincere message to her,
While I write to you my honey dipped soft letter,
May be intended to no particular one .
While writing a letter for my dearest lady,
She may be my pompous external stimuli,
The stimuli becomes gradually secondary,
And my own self beauty be a grand priority.
I, after writing the letter, read and re-read
For my own delight and ego satisfaction,
For my lady-love, to be in my possession,
For my status, even petty interest reorientation .
Instinct for self preservation is my life in fine,
Even our pseudo love and surrender to the divine,
Nothing but out of my greed and fear,
And self love is all for our joyful tear.
Self love is not hypocritical,
It is not at all cynical,
No one can share my swelling in my body,
We can articulate only our lip sympathy .
Tall talk is an important mark of our civility,
Everyman is an island,
Always pining for an ideal,
Knowing well that the ideal is for ever unreliable.
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