They were born out of different pixie dusts; Love, religion and lust,
The skies were painted red; An army of thoughts and dreams were led,
Across those deep oceans; Complacent on surface but knows only commotion.
Love is blind they say; Is it truly?
Love is patient they say; I tell you those are stories they make;
Love is strong they say; I’d tell you its fragile like clay,
Love is forever they say; In those rusty old caskets are the truths laid,
Of innumerable suffering, did they say? To paint a picture for you to take,
To make the heart suffer; Remembering the stories which made the heart flutter.
Love is miscalculated; All the other notions are dated,
Love is kind; Heart always over mind,
But love is also weighted; Bows down to chronicles undated.
Love is not a fairytale; Each of them have their own tales,
of their own world; Of their homes and chambers hated,
Hated and hidden deep down; Awaited by the two,
To either embrace it; With grace,
Or to shatter; Because the society matters.
But the faults of that casket they accept; To make the society inept.
Before the sands of time blow; They leave tip toe,
To arrest what they have; The love, happiness and lies,
Enough to make the souls survive; Enough for two to thrive,
The world fails again; to discern; To let some adulation flow,
Loses itself to inutile chapters and verses; Long told; inept to change its mold.
They have their own battles to fight; To choose between wrong and right,
A tear escapes her eyes; She is tired of all the fights,
But this is not the end he says; There will be better days and night,
They close their eyes to the million stars above; Much above our battle of religion, lust & love!