Osho on Love

You fall in love with a woman
because she is so new:
the physiology, the colour of her hair,
the way she walks, turns, says hello.
Everything is new, the territory unknown:
you are drawn like a moth at night
to a glass-walled flame.
As you approach, she runs away:
that is part of the game.
If she simply says, "Yes, I am ready,"
the mystery would fade that very moment -
in fact you would start thinking of
how to run away. Man is a hunter,
so when the woman is chased,
running away, trying to hide here
and there, avoiding, saying no,
the man gets hot. The challenge
becomes intense, the woman must be
conquered. Now he grows ready
to die for her, to do whatever is needed,
his heart will flutter, he will fly,
singe his wings on her heat,
beat his small head on her glass walls.
Before the night ends, he must
take her, yes he must, before she too
burns out in the first cold
light of dawn.

Not Home

I was eight, and alone.
Waiting in the garden I talked
to trees. Seeds sprouted.
Crickets sang. In the house
Grandma lay dying.
I caught an insect, held it
in my hand. Plucked a leg off,
as I softly sang. Very cruel,
very bad. Surely Papa would
come home, if I were bad.
Make me hurt, for being bad.
One more leg then, and another.
Time crawled. I lost count.
Finally there were no more legs,
but Papa wasn’t home.
I dropped the useless insect
on the ground. In the house
Grandma went on dying.
On and on her body twitched,
till I crushed it with a stone.
Papa wasn’t home.


This is version 2. The original version is shown in the preceding post.

Not Home

I was eight, and alone.

In the garden I talked to trees.

Seeds sprouted. Crickets sang.

In the house Grandma lay dying.

I caught a grasshopper and made a deal

- make Papa come home now,

and I'll let you go.

The hostage scratching,

struggling in my fist, as I softly sang.

I plucked a leg off, as I sang.

Very cruel, very bad.

Surely he'd be home, if I were bad.

Make me hurt, for being bad.

One more leg then, and another.

I lost count. Then there were

no more legs, but Papa wasn't home.

I dropped the useless insect

on the ground. In the house Grandma

went on dying. On and on

her body twitched, till I crushed it

with a stone. Papa wasn't home.