Fool is a lover

He fell in love with her in her middle age.

Since her puberty, how many, with a vantage,

Would have disturbed, pursued,

Excited, aroused and embarrassed her

And how many, with chance in their side,

Would have wooed and courted her?

But he can’t but refuse to believe it.

He loved her as though she was a maiden

And took her love a virgin one,

As if he is the first to steal her heart.

She departed; he departed but not his loving her,

Though taken away by time and distance,

Though reunion being weak in its stance

And though new union having a chance.  

How foolish a lover is! Let him be.

Pleasure is the manifestation of foolishness.

30.10.2000, Pmdi