Those books, those films, those stories and those songs
Convinced us how love in life belongs.
They made us sops look for it all over:
Hope to look for it in four leaf clovers.
They never mentioned what to do after –
When the tears slyly kill the laughter,
When the stars and moon blot out and die,
When we glean every one was a lie.
They never talk of love’s staying in lease,
Or of death, or of pain, or of disease;
They never mentioned how love loses faith,
How it doesn’t need another love to mate.
Maybe, I am to blame for I looked away,
From the books, films, songs that had this to say.
I realize now what love’s true nature is:
Unjust quotients of sadness and bliss,
A ruse to reproduce before you get forlorn,
With nothing to do once the kids are gone.
Of this I’m sure: after all the cheating,
Although love leaves, the heart keeps on beating.