Love is a mistress of herself,

She comes without asking.

She can be so cruel or like a kind elf,

She can be true or just masking.

 

Your fate – my sorrowful pilgrim,

With the key on the neck to walk,

To look for a fairy kingdom,

With different people to talk.

 

You want to know whose you are,

Where your love lives.

Do you have to walk so far?

Who is that one who happiness gives?

 

You knock at the closed door,

You try to pick up the right key,

You remember the love you had before,

But…it was not at all a glee.

 

Now you see only one possibility,

Among the vices and temptations,

To find the door of reliability,

The love without any flirtations.

 

The sea of tears can be shed in vain,

You can meet millions of copies,

Attractiveness  by the beauty may remain,

Credible may be there or just bodies.

 

Losing the last hope,

Once again the door will squeak,

You’ll throw from the neck the rope

But …will lose the ability to speak.

 

Love will break into your heart,

But  you are too tired of the long wondering.

Pondering if she can guess and  so smart,

You lose a wish new love affair to start,

 

She won’t recognize you.

You’ll pause at the doorstep and leave.

It doesn’t occur to you,

You don’t want to believe.

 

Love will again disappear behind the door,

And…once more your life is like a whore.

Now it is an unforgiving hitch

Now it looks like a damn bitch.

 

It’s not always easy to pick up the  key

To the unknown door  for you as well as for me.

 

©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine}

The 2^nd of January, 2012