The Art Of Loving.... Poem by RIC BASTASA

when you were young
you wrote love on the bark of a tree
and it showed a scar
and you are proud of it,
and love keeps on visiting you
and you love it loving you.
you make love and life is meaningful.
in fact, the meaning of life is
in that love.
Time is a teacher and it teaches you
sometimes to write love in the sand
in the desert and it leaves a mark for a while
until it is blown by the wind
and every night becomes as cold as your
empty arms deprived of comfort from those
who leave love the way tradition does it.
And then you changed. you begin to write love
on the water, in the sea in the pond
and you know how love behaves in water.
when you come back it is no longer there.
and you learn some more of these changes and
pains, when you finally write love in the air.
You know how air is. It keeps on flowing
and nothing is seen within its body.
It is nothing but akin of space, a flower
of emptiness and coldness
and meaningless whispers.
and finally, you learned not to write about love.
be it in sand or water or air.
you just keep it to your heart.
even without the other and that was when
you learned to love
yourself and the air and the water and the sand
cease to be the medium of
your life.

when someone asks you where is love,
you simply smile and touch your
chest with the united fingers of
your hands.