Perching Poem by Hannatu Pqrs

Dearest,
how magical
that now,
our hearts entwine
in a perfect fit,
that each feels for the other
what the other feels for them.

Still,
as it happens often with me,
soon,
like all the others I loved
deeply,
yet subsequently discarded;

and every penchant I craved
eagerly,
only to become a bore;

nay,
like the desert mirage that
appears to the Bedouin so real
at a distance,
only dry sand at close quarters;

like the moon that enthralls the selenophile
on the 15th,
only to shrink and disappear
in the coming days too;

like the blooming rose
so fresh,
which must wilt away
In a few days too;

like the boomerang sent by its master
swiftly,
and which must return,
just as swiftly;

like the pilgrim's piety that peaks
upon sighting the Ka'abah,
only to deflate
On their arrival home;

like mortals, clinging tenaciously to life,
yet certain of death
at a date unknown;

Nay,
like every hapless soul
I once loved,
or thought I loved;

you will soon seem to me
only a memory,
which preceded another
That succeeded it.

This bird does perch sometimes,
But it must fly.