I fathered the woman I love

Upon a human's form,
I placed a mirror that reflected my heart,
Painted her in hues of my soul,
Breathing love into her eyes, life into her lungs,
Showering her with my attention,
Sanctifying her person,
Knowing all this was in my head,
Yet I worshipped it in a human external to me,
Who said divinity wasn't natural,
That the spiritual was forced?
Why, even idol worship is inherent,
For the human is all sentiment,
Alive in a soul that feels,
In a heart that melts,
In tears that flow,
Cold logic is but a mask,
Even like clothes we wear,
It is a presentation to the world,
And protection for the weak soul.

---

A continuation:

And then he approaches her,
The woman she is,
Wishing she is the one he saw,
He accepts the difference, bearing pain,
He calls these as faults, as complaints,
While they are merely discrepancies,
Between a person who exists,
And one who doesn't,
And all this for what purpose?
A soul's sport for pleasure,
Where one gets hurt?
Nay, it is self infliction,
For no pleasure and all pain

Written on 22nd August, 2016 at 6:08pm

Upon requests from several people for clarification, I'm putting this explanation here:

This poem talks of a person superimposing the qualities desires, on the woman he loves, thereby being in love with someone else, not the one she is.

The term "fathered" in the title is to imply that this imaginary woman is a product of our man's imagination and has hence been "fathered" by him

Creation

Be it a written code that works,
Or a machine that runs,
A song, poem,
A story, a play or just a character
Be it a dialogue or a quote,
I find that it springs to life once a man writes it,
Freeing itself from the man it came from,
Escaping the nib that wrote it,
The lips that sang it,
Or the hands that made it,
Growing a heart that starts beating,
Breathing, living a life of its own,
Devoid of any connection with its baffled creator,
Lo, if such is the case with insentient creations of man,
I dread to fathom the potential,
Of the sentient ones the Lord has made.


*Wrote a poem that sort of went like this in the afternoon of 9.8.2016 on the whiteboard, thought I'd taken a picture but it isn't on my phone. I had named it "it's all alive" and hadn't written the last three lines This is a version that is quite similar (whatever I could remember) but with additions. Wrote this one at Aero structures lab at 11:56pm on 9.8.2016

Stray Thoughts

Falling Out of Love

When a face once etched in the heart
Is wiped our without a trace,
When those memories are no longer fond-
And become mere factual remembrances,
They say one has fallen out of love.
Then is a man truly liberated-
They call it falling when one is smitten -
But the recovery isn't called a rise.

Straying Away

Oh the human is indeed strange-
In one dimension when subjective and in another who objective,
Objective not merely with others, but even with oneself,
So much so that the past is judged harshly,
And the future planned precisely,
Yet the present that arrives is always but chaos-
Oh man does indeed live in presents*,
An infinite number of 'present' moments,
Planned in the past and remembered in the future,
But an immeasurably infinite 'current' when it is,
Oh, who can give a number to time -
A collection of intertwined moments,
One of which happens to be an end,
It is indeed remarkable,
That one discretizes so easily,
An infinite continuum to a finite figure.

Written in C504 on 9.8.2016, and edited at Aero structures lab at 11:30pm

A Partner

Arms to embrace you,
A soul that cares for you,
Awaits your arrival, by the door,
And loves you for who you truly are,

A friend who puts you before their own self,
Who loves you more than she does herself,
Who understands your every move,
Showering you with unconditional love,

Who holds you in the core of her heart,
Laughing at your jokes, considering you smart,
Providing a shoulder to lean on, her lap to lie,
Holding your hand in sorrow and in joy,

Lovely though it may all seem,
It's all just a blatant dream,
Take a deep breath and heave a sigh,
For you must know it's all just a lie.

This world is built on selfishness,
With each resident wanting for itself, no less,
Any gift is with the anticipation of a possible gain,
And no creature will unnecessarily take any pain,

Written on 9.8.2016 at the Aero structures lab

Standing by the Funeral Pyre

Amidst blazing flames I stand,
Their fumes filling my lungs,
Fires that burn corpses,
Bodies that were once persons like myself,
Eating, walking, talking and living,
Ones who were loved, hated, ignored and cared for,
Persons that now lie as lifeless logs by my feet,
With no life in them to feel the heat,
That burns them into an ashy heap,
We see them now as mere things,
Objects that were once alive,
Ghosts of which dwell where I know not,
Haunting ruins, houses, perhaps floating around,
Or perhaps burnt away or in another world,
I, however, am haunted by a restless mind,
A bundle of thoughts clouding me from reality,
For I stand here amidst men who have faced doom,
And analyse it objectively,
Doom that I know lies on my path as well,
And yet, I fail to see,
That here lies my fate.