Feelings entwining, mingling,
twisting around each other,
holding out tendrils like creepers,
grasping each other’s soft stalks,
Like vines to soar higher.
To merge, to seep,
to crash into each other,
like sea waves on a beach.
Flowing together
to become something nobler;
to feel one’s presence
through the other.
The tired tailor,
Working on a short man’s coat
stolen by a tall man,
Laboring to make it fit the thief.
The tired tailor,
Working to mend a thin man’s coat
falling in the hands of a fat man,
Striving to cover naked corpulence
with little strip of cloth.
God the struggling tailor,
Fixing the misfits,
A tired and worn out tailor!
Those who can’t create,
they believe in destruction,
They don’t do much,
They create destruction at the most,
They rob others
of their rights to creativity.
Love at the spectrum’s lower end
would need something in return,--
a sweet-sour worldly barter,
But it’s still love,
the base model though.
Love at the spectrum’s upper end
would want nothing in return,
It just is,
Just selfless giving;
the top model;
pristine, pure, pricey.
You have already paid a big price
by being a woman
in a male-dominated world,
You then accept your status
of being under debt forever,
So you keep repaying your debts
in bits and pieces
on a daily basis
till your last breath.
Love is solid in the bones;
fluid in blood;
airy fresh in breath;
tingling in touch on the skin;
sweet in smile on the lips;
tasty in words on the tongue;
light and hope in the eyes;
and lots of flowers
in the garden of heart.
Creating a path to God,
Flying like a bird
facing no barriers of
boundaries, brawls, rituals, sectarianism,--
the pathless path,
The path always there
but not visible till you move on it,
Like the path in the air
that was always there
but didn’t manifest
till some bird took
a joyful sorties in its airy swirls.
