This love
This, love

This love,
Is not for sale,
Nor is it to be toyed with
It is delicate and humble,
But also, sturdy and grand,
So don’t be fooled

This love
This, love

And the true fullness, of this love
In all of its grace and charity, and imperfect perfection
Is meant veritably, for only one,
And most likely, too potent
In its highest form
For any other

This love is spoiled, and greedy
And highly expectant,
Like a coddled child,
Even in its maturity
Sometimes lashing out in defiant tantrum,
When assumed shunned
This love…
Is complicated

And even in the midst of confident revolt,
This love offers up contrition
For unpleasing, unworthiness
The human heart is so contrary
And wondrous,
And very easily broken
Both blessed
And cursed
Perfect house,
For so fickle a thing,
As

This love is content and comforted,
Most assuredly when the sacred object of its adulation,
Seems to find favor with
This love,
Is always challenged,
By the reality that,
The gift of sacred love takes patience,
And faith,
And effort,
and sacrifice,
And is ever changing
in its infinite and beautiful
Steadfastness
 

Ursula Rucker

My love is not talking to me
There’s a big knot in the thread of our relationship
My love is not talking to me

If I had known it would come to this
Why would I have fallen in love, wasted my love and longing on Him?

 

Saint Kabir
Sung by Shubha Mudgal