“kehta hain dil, rasta mushkil, maaloom nahi hain kahaan manzil”
because it’s that kind of day. because it’s that kind of life.
Not a red rose or a satin heart.
I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.
I am trying to be truthful.
Not a cute card or a kissogram.
I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.
Today I know what I want to do but I don’t know what for
To be living for you is all I want to do
To be loving you it’ll all be there when my dreams come true
Today you’ll make me say that I somehow have changed
Today you’ll look into my eyes, I’m just not the same
To be anymore than all I am would be a lie
I’m so full of love I could burst apart and start to cry
Today everything you want, I swear it all will come true
Today I realize how much I’m in love with you
With you standing here I could tell the world what it means to love
To go on from here I can’t use words, they don’t say enought
Please, please listen to me
It’s taken so long to come true
And it’s all for you
all for you….
Here is how I think of you.
I think of you looking like a dog, with your head suddenly cocked up, alert and listening for the sounds outside that drove you into panic in a matter of seconds.
I think of you with only some of one eye and tan skin that suddenly looks light, visible, squished into the crook of my arm, looking at me.
I think of you sitting across me from the table at a restaurant and holding my hand as 20’s music plays and we wait for our food to arrive.
I think of you long-limbed, and brown and ridiculously comfortable and unselfconscious, flinging your clothes across the room for the first time.
I think of you with your face half hidden behind my hair, breathing into my ear and making my skin tingle while our friends drink beer and get stoned in yellow light.
I think of you with your face buried in my neck, breathing in; I have wet eyelashes.
I think of you pulling retarded faces on skype all the way across the world, as far as you can possibly get.
I think of you and I am not angry anymore.
- In an interview with Sing Out! magazine, Dylan said, “The songs are there. They exist all by themselves just waiting for someone to write them down. I just put them down on paper. If I didn’t do it, somebody else would.”
- “Down the Highway” – Dylan composed this song in the form of a 12-bar blues. In the sleeve notes of Freewheelin’, Dylan explained to Nat Hentoff: “What made the real blues singers so great is that they were able to state all the problems they had; but at the same time, they were standing outside of them and could look at them. And in that way, they had them beat.” Into this song, Dylan injected one explicit mention of an absence that was troubling him: the sojourn of Suze Rotolo in Perugia: “My baby took my heart from me/ She packed it all up in a suitcase/ Lord, she took it away to Italy, Italy.”
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes –
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one’s hands –
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.