Nothing or none could ever tell
what this love is. Love, that can
assume any colour, any taste,
scent or colour without a context
without a reason. Many are the poems
on love, no story without a trace;
Fluid in nature, any shape it's poured into.
Kisses can't seal it. Only lips get sealed,
overflows beyond an embrace reducing
us to kids at play. Or adults at work...
Everything, everything in bits and parts
pushed under the heart, stored in
invisible niches. Draw the blinds!
Elsewhere yonder, we search
and re-search...the blinds remain drawn
what's pushed under laden the heart;
the niches hide in more niches...
Now,
tell me-
what's its colour?
what's its scent?
what's its shape?
Beyond inches and feet
five or six or more...
No constraints.
No limitations.
This Love.
16apr2015
between 1330 n 13.50hrs
Love is a scented longed lingered desire Fills our eyes with wonderful colours Throbs our mind, beautiful dreams To see the panorama of life nurtured in nature
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice poetic imagination, Indira. You may like to read my poem, Love and Lust. Thanks