Love Is A Mistress Of Herself
Love is a mistress of herself,
She comes without asking.
She can be a cruel or like a kind elf,
She can be true or masking.
Your fate – my sorrowful pilgrim,
With the key on the neck to walk,
To look for a fairy kingdom,
With different people to talk.
You want to know whose you are,
Where your love lives.
Do you have to walk so far?
Who is that one who happiness gives?
You knock at the closed door,
You try to pick up the right key,
You remember the love you had before,
But…it’s not at all a glee.
Now you see only one possibility,
Among the vices and temptations,
To find the door of reliability,
The love without any flirtations.
The sea if tears can shed in vain,
You can meet millions of copies,
Attractiveness by the beauty may remain,
Credible may be there or just bodies.
Losing the last hope,
Once again the door will squeak,
You’ll throw from the neck a rope
But …will lose the ability to speak.
Love will break into your heart,
But! You are too tired of the long wondering.
Pondering if she is a fool or so smart.
You are too tired a new love affair to start,
You won’t recognize her,
You’ll pause at the doorstep and leave.
For you it doesn’t occur,
You don’t want to believe.
Love will again disappear behind the door,
And…once more your life is like a whore.
Now it is an unforgiving hitch
Now it looks like a damn bitch.
It’s not always easy to pick up a key
To the unknown key hold for you and even me.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Added by Poetry Lover
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