Promote yourself, What’s love

 

 

 

           What’s love…Oh! The Irony

Oh! Love, That gypsy wanderer

When some people talk about love,
_I don’t talk about poets, swan, and dove,
Of chimeric thoughts that hover
over a dream-catcher net

_But we, like ordinary people,
at wee hours, they daydream
of that day when they get caught,
like a wisp on a stream,

And Of which they never talk
and again, they never taught
Only longing sometimes, for that
as if they were,him a tenebrous Latin lover

and her, my fair lady of one night
he came by singing under her balcony,
Thither, hither and yon, they have ever met.
What’s love…that thing out of your reach
Oh! That was the only way of which

Like a thief,  that had left
with your valuables, and walked away
then left you, with a broken heart alas!
He never came back,anyway

And it makes you sometimes  feel lonely,
a quantum of solace, to linger
at a simple note of sorry,
left on a table, at reach of your finger

or like a hungry burglar
had eaten your diner,
one night while you went for a walk,
and of which you never talk.

For years you lived on a whisper,
a word that he uttered to you
like to a young spouse, the day they just wedded
that has her sailor husband, he said it
to her the morning he left, and sailed.

_ Her, she stands at the window,
peering at things, on the offing
At him, the while, the ship,
the sole mariner coming
Waiting for days, the day
they’ll return to the safe harbor,
Will find her there, at the moors,  like among other wives
With anguish cutting her guts, like hands cutted with knives

Then they’ll be living for a week or two
As they often do
on lobster they’ll dine,
with hot bread and wine,

On Fresh water and d’ amour
Like always, and come toujours
and then, on left-overs, like everyone.
They go sitting there sometimes,
at the dock of the bay,
Just having small talks, mamours and caresses,
wasting time, until the next day going at sea
Watching their hearts glowing low like embers,
Under the ashes of a bonfire, on a golden shore.
at the sole thought, of partir encore.

kissing goodbye  is such sweet sorrow
on departing in the tomorrow

I am, sitting here, like dog on the bay,
The while, the only thing, waiting for his master to return home
Do you return home someday! my love
Oh! I am too nostalgic to remembrances,

Sorry, guys, What a mess! I’m drunk of love, I have to go anyway

 “Sittin’ here  resting my bones,

And this loneliness won’t leave me alone, yes”

“Now I’m just go sittin’ there
at the dock of the bay Watching the tide roll away, ooh Wasting time” _Otis  Redding-_(Sitting on) The Dock of the Bay, lyrics

©what’s love_Kalimelo

Promote yourself, What’s lovewhat’s love_Kalimelo