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Love indeed is a frantic
and a savage master
It is the clock that chyme in the hearts of unequals
in masked equity
Love is a lullaby
that lulls the heart to sleep in the frenzy of its ecstasy
it permeates the wounded with the balm of healing
and brightens the learner with the illumination of its radiance
Love is a Muse
that inkredibly inkstruct the heart
the route to where poets become menders of arts
Love is a summer
that sweeps away the freezing air of brokenness
it is the lamp that warms a heart frozen by broken hopes
Love is inkvisibly visible
though it dwell in the act of arts
but to it motions, erratic solemn echoes become predictable enduring reports
Love is a wind
that burns out the candle of hatred
and ignites the radiance of passion
Love measures not its height with the rule
but test its surety on the palate of many seasons
Love is not a coward
though to the stretching ends it cowers
Love is not a word
for boys, it is meant for men of the he[art]
for though it tastes well on the lips
its formations are too complex for petty minds
Love is a school boy
with many a dreams
who breaks it to the hope of
doubting parents
Love is an act
not meant for the stage
but played out in the he[art]
Love is an emotion
but it feels not hatred
love has eyes
but it is impaired to flaws
Love is a delicacy of many seasons
its aroma whets the he[art] with many reasons
Love is not fooled
it is that tale that trails till
the clock chyme its last…
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