There isn't any half time mark
in a true blue love game, my darling
Neither prior fixed schedules or dates
nor strict rules, regulations, contracts
in a game of love, lovers avidly play it
themselves, in the way they truly wish
whether callow or highly seasoned,
mindful, heartless or calloused inside out!
The players decide where it has to be
played out, how long and when the
curtain should fall and what would
be the after math of this; what results!
In course of the moves of this game
the thing important is particularly this:
They decide what to do with the dear life of each,
some times out of sheer impulse, even eyes shut.
The ones that keep sanity and good sense
and hold the head above the water, swim together
would live to tell the tale sipping a glass of wine
but the rest, mostly become tales different
rarely told with a smile,most of those are written
in the black ink of grief and sung at taverns after
the hours dark falls and ghosts vengefully roam.
Some, fall by the wayside in sacrifice, and perish
many disappear in dark pits invisible that lay
in wait to eat them head and all, without a trace.
But the ones I sing about are these pairs, resilient
they hold hands, steadily climb the path,
winding and narrow leading to the view point,
on the top of the green hill, from there
the view is breath taking, an ample reward!
