You have an itch to tell me ‘I love you.’
You want me to tell you that I love you.
Why must this phrase be precious for lovers?
Sans this verbal, can’t love and care exist?
You and I are friends; it goes for sometimes.
You must have ascertained my sentiments
And discovered my inclination towards you.
What more do you want at this juncture?
Must you be adamant in your insistence
On my confession of passion for you?
Instead of pressing a lady on this,
You must see from her the love she conceals.
You must help her develop her interest
Before she perceives your interest-
By hiding her from her observation
And letting her desire to take a shape.
Can there be any situation, sir,
More charming than that of perceiving
A woman in love without herself being
Conscious of depth of her interest?
Isn’t it a triumph to rejoice in secret
Over what she has yet to recognize?
She herself discovering her interest
For you to hasten her acceptance;
Women labour under great difficulties;
A declaration of love is always
A mortifying experience to us.
Man may not know at what cost it must come.
It is woman’s instinct to retain power
Of obliging a man to hope, fear, pray
And beseech as long as they deem fit
Till before she confesses to her love.
How I would behave towards you now on
May not add to regard you have for me.
“I can promise you that you’ll not like me
Less upon knowing me better.” Assure!
27.04.2015
(Inspired by the
character Miss Paula in the novel, A
Laodicean, by Thomas Hardy.)
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