Love worships them barefoot
who learnt how not to bow down
Some people might have seen
her as blooming buds while some
might have seen her as the autumn
Love is not just an emotion.
She too needs to felt.
She dresses herself in silk
and satin blouse but not in western
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
She knits sweater for me in cold
December nights and cooks
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.