Peaches by Yasmin Ahmad
Bathing,
in the blossom of our love,
I am suffocated by its rotting.
It happens that it happens.
When a man and woman first meet,
they are at their kindest,
most polite,
most considerate.
Never again,
from that moment on,
will they be as sweet,
or will their smiles be as genuine,
or will their eyes be as playful,
or will their longing be as pure
or as powerful,
as on that first accidental meeting.
It is as though a heart that falls in love
were a peach at the peak of its ripeness;
plump and velvet to the touch,
but destined to decay and decay.
Would it that the heart could love a lover
with as much conviction,
as a few conditions.
as when it loves a friend.
in the blossom of our love,
I am suffocated by its rotting.
It happens that it happens.
When a man and woman first meet,
they are at their kindest,
most polite,
most considerate.
Never again,
from that moment on,
will they be as sweet,
or will their smiles be as genuine,
or will their eyes be as playful,
or will their longing be as pure
or as powerful,
as on that first accidental meeting.
It is as though a heart that falls in love
were a peach at the peak of its ripeness;
plump and velvet to the touch,
but destined to decay and decay.
Would it that the heart could love a lover
with as much conviction,
as a few conditions.
as when it loves a friend.