Montage (or The History of Love as Philosophy)

Plato -

You shone like the sun

Over the cave of my being.

The moment I saw you,

I knew all the epics

About us

Revolting against Zeus.

Aristotle -

Contrary to everything;

You were, are and will be

All my causes.

Ibn Sina -

In the contingency of this world,

You and me ARE.

Our love,

The necessary logical proof:

God exists.

Al Ghazali -

You

Are all my knowledge.

I memorized you

Syllable by syllable.

Descartes -

Society,

The evil demon

Deceving us.

Kant -

I see Me

As you.

Both should be counted

Both are true.

Romanticism -

To touch your soul,

I smell grass

At 2 AM.

Marxism -

Lovers of the world,

Untie!

You have nothing.

Nietzsche -

We are and will

Recur eternally

Through every lover

And every lover

Through us.

Existentialism -

Lovers;

One should imagine them

Happy.

Wittgenstein -

You are all my poems

Written, unwritten.

Postmodernism -

A mood,

An incredulity

Towards love poems.

Post-postmodernism -

You and me

Raising a family of bastards.

A BILLBOARD IN ATHENS

As mesmerized

By the black screens today,

People go on

Engrossed in the things people do,

While a voice calls unto them -

Calls for the Truth.

It is a pity,

the wisest man in Athens

Has to beg for it,

Search rigorously for the interlocutors.

The enemy of the Truth

Is not falsehood

But the glamour of it.

The appearances:

To seem speaking the truth,

To appear to be revolutionary -

The same formula,

The same equation everywhere;

The truth should be quotable,

The quotation has to be beautiful.

The face should make a good wallpaper,

The martyr has to be adorable.

While this lustrous flaunt goes by,

Truth appears

Beneath the largest democracy

As Kashmir,

As the face of Socrates,

Ugly and warted.

CIRCUMVENT

You run your fingers

Through my hair,

Like fatal thought 

Combing a suicidal mind.

One day I kissed you frantically

Raising a tooth-memorial

Over a blushing, soggy landscape.

The inevitability of music

When the bow touches the string:

A frisson running through the body,

Your touch,

Rain and blizzard hitting together

The glass of my being.

My poem, hanging hopefully

By the eave of your bosom

Over the peg of your heart.

Have I not lost everything?

I am balding and

Missing major molars.

The body slipping into mountains

Spreading silently,

Firm as a tree -

Ever increasing girth.

I have lost everything.

Everything you ever touched.

Except this poetry!

Maybe, I lost you

The day you were found.

And these have all been the attempts

To regain you, recover you

Line by line

Word by word.