by P.R. Viswanathan
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day,
As good old Shakespeare did famously say?
Or to a rose or a star or the sun and moon
As besotted lovers of all ages croon.
There was a time when these similes appealed;
Before ardour of unseeing youth gently cooled.
These words but bespeak one outside of me
While the years have welded us into a unity.
No difference is so big to make us distraught.
So often you voice my innermost thought
Each seems, so much of the other, a part
And is in sublime communion, heart with heart
When you are part of me – in everything
In the air I breathe, the water I drink
My catalyst in creation; my writing
What need of words, what use for words?
If this is a marriage made in high heaven,
It is best left to God to name His creation.
