Sound of Voices IV

Apart from the structural and dual or multiple paradigms of existential life, of theories and definitions, of meanings and of beings I fall in love. I am a little Keats singing the songs of love. A conscious undertake from the self to keep the equilibrium of life and imaginations. My love for her incinerates the credibility of human comprehension over the archetypal images and experiences of love. I’ll never get exhausted writing about her and the unusual affair of love ever told.  She’s beautiful without knowing it. And possesses charm that she’s not even aware of. she’s like a trap set by nature-a sweet perfumed rose whose petals cupid lurks in ambush. Anyone who has seen her smile has known perfection. She instills grace in every common thing and divinity in every careless gesture. Venus in her shell was never so lovely, and Diana in the forest never as graceful as the girl.

‘I figured I shouldn’t talk to you, but I don’t see how that’s going to make any difference. Can I pretend you’re not in love so that it’s easier for me to talk to you?’ she said. Of course, she has the right to remain silent. After all, what’s the difference that going to make? For years, she was silent and that was in her silence he loved her. She is to him what oil is to fire, the infinite raging of the flame will never be quenched even in the infinite vacuum of silence or thoughts. His love for her was molded within the matrix of time and space; the somatic propinquity of the physique and the affability of hers were the afterglow of that infinite, telepathic love. Her silence would never make any difference. ‘Let’s dance!’ he said.

‘Why do you still love me? Do you know how hopeless it is? Give up dude,’ she said. “’Hopeless!” it’s a pointless broken sword; it is hope that keeps us alive. Why do you still love your life?  Why do you still keep yourself alive? Someday you are going to die; we are all going to die and just think how hopeless our life is.  But do we mind that hopelessness? No, never! We still love our life, we dream, we love, we weave eternal memories and love, and we celebrate our life. Nothing is hopeless ’cause we don’t know what’s next’ he said. (While Czechoslovakia cuddled for love, it was a bright sunny long day in Antarctica and raining all night in the Desert. And he was crowned the king of Utopia! )

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