Time and love. The novel in verse. George Pospelow

      “I love you.”

      The heart will leap,

      the joy will spurt

      and flood —

      forget the ground.

      A delight of looking at you —

      a lavish feast

      of insatiable feelings —

      yields the words

      “I love you.”

      “I love you.”

      Almost exhausted,

      we whisper to each other.

      Our willful

      capricious

      and winged luck —

      as if gliding forever —

      is skylarking

      all over again.

      “I love you.”

      Our past fortune

      made its home

      in your smile.

      Our daily joy

      of the thrills to come

      shines in your eyes.

      When after a quarrel

      you hide in your eyes:

      a bleeding sunset,

      checkmate,

      a wanderer yogi,

      a howling doggy,

      a ship laid up,

      a bed tidied up,

      a crane shot,

      the Gordian knot.

      When your cold

      eyes look askance:

      boulders everywhere,

      rumors in the air,

      mice pitch,

      no road – a ditch,

      a hiss at night,

      a musician blind,

      no Deity in a shrine,

      frame, no painting.

      When like turquoise

      your eyes are blue:

      two cornflowers,

      a fireside in a tower,

      a mirror-like ocean,

      pipe-organ emotions,

      a French perfume,

      a cactus bloom,

      May warmth,

      squirrel homes

      When your dashing

      sparkling eyes appeal:

      a carriage-and-three,

      in the Himalayas —

      Halloween,

      a herd snort,

      bells’ consort,

      sledding in the Alps,

      water in gulps,

      a birds choir,

      the inflamed fire.

      Time didn’t stop without you,

      it didn’t crawl by without you —

      it went contra clockwise without you,

      forty-three thousand minutes without you.

      A severe kind of survival without you —

      at night, crying hermitlike without you,

      at day, talking and smiling without you.

      Your goals were honored without you,

      hated and cursed without you.

      The strength, not values, faded without you

      during the time trial without you

      and happiness of being with you without you.

      Time.

      Love.

      Starry time.

      Passionate love.

      Potent space, time,

      the fifth dimension – love.

      Falling in our palms, stars of the time

      always brought us true fidelity of love,

      but the sky stopped sending pearls of time,

      and your glance seldom used to reflect love.

      You ought to fly – took with you twinkling time,

      wrote severe rational letters, forgot about our love.

      At last, the night plaited into its hair shiny stars of the time,

      and one of them, your thawed heart, brought back our love.

      The loveable smile

      of my companion.

      Her portrait

      in a porthole-medallion.

      The blast

      of a roaring sound

      in the face —

      a prelude of parting,

      strangling embrace.

      No God.

      No Demon.

      You.

      No analog.

      Memory. Anxiety.

      A mute dialogue —

      a melody of seconds

      by the heart-bell.

      Propellers.

      Start.

      A wave of farewell.

      Out

      of the humidly thick air

      of Calcutta24, we escaped

      to the real genuine woods.

      Deep inside, we found

      a tiny Buddhist temple,

      a monk was sitting nearby.

      The Buddhist,

      former Communist,

      set an English paper aside

      and shared his story.

      Trying to win

      a mutual love,

      he failed and swore

      to renounce