• chaotic_phrases 4w

    Love worships them barefoot
    who learnt how not to bow down
    against pain.
    Some people might have seen
    her as blooming buds while some
    might have seen her as the autumn
    shedding leaves.
    Love is not just an emotion.
    She too needs to felt.
    She dresses herself in silk
    and satin blouse but not in western
    attires.
    She walks with pride and paints
    stars on the skies.
    I've seen her smiling and crying too.
    It tastes like raspberries and
    smell like lavender.
    She caresses my forehead when
    I feel dizzy and also restore happy
    moments in a jar kept inside my wardrobe.

    I'd spend thousand years beading
    necklaces or writing a melodious
    song for her.
    Last time when I was cuddled, it
    made me realise that love must be a
    damsel. She sounds like Mother.
    I want to be like her.
    She knows how to communicate
    and extinguish rage.
    She peeps through eyes and
    enter into people's heart like a
    unwritten poetry.
    She knits sweater for me in cold
    December nights and cooks
    hazelnut puddings.
    She stays like memory. She
    convinces me to give and not to
    expect. I could be seen restless at
    times but she offers bunch of
    charming words to me.

    We often sit before fireplace and talk
    for hours. She looked helpless twice.
    Once when seeing a baby inside the
    womb and the other time when
    someone died. She narrates how people
    look distressed and fall just because I
    completely didn't belong to them.
    If however they would trust her they
    will come to know how to rise,
    how to grow.
    ©chaotic_phrases