A Love Consummation

The moment you have in your heart this extraordinary thing called love, and feel the depth, the delight, the ecstasy of it, you will discover that for you the world is transformed. — Jiddu Krishnamurti

Who has never eaten his bread with tears,
Who has never, through night’s wretched hours,
Lay on his bed and wept with fear,
He knows not you, but the beloved.

And, of all that, but a fragmenting memory
Is left, fills his heart uncertainty again.
He feels the undying flame within, eternally,
While this new state only brings him pain.

So, we seem to ourselves only half alive,
The brightest day is merely twilight’s reflection.
Grateful that Fate and Love torment a life,
Ever so profoundly, burns oneself into dissipation.

One’s power to love, and the need for love in return
Had once been suppressed completely,
Now rebels unrelentingly.
Delighted, wondering, who had achieved such thing?

True Love, the wised commented,
takes a thousand years to consummate.
Nevertheless, the enlightened insisted,
It was already consummated a thousand years ago.