Love

By Pankaj

love is not a pair of scales,
virtue and vice, weighed on each side,
a tipping for virtue, rewarded with love,

for which cheated wife, did not forgive her mate?
which coldly spurned lover, did not think twilight thoughts of his beloved?
and sigh, at what may have been, and might still be (oh, desperate hope)
which mother, did deny her comforting womb, to her murderer son?

love, rather, is a fickle little devil,
inclined towards beauty and power,
but not always,
it owes no’one nothing,
not as true as it is made out to be,
but all consuming,
for a time at least,
till it renews its search for a muse,

so stop playing your game of “should”,
as that is not love’s game.
stop harping upon your graces,
and curse the sky,
because love never was about deserving was it?