By Akansha Bhattacharjee
When in despair, I look at my sky,
The floundering bewitchment of a muddled lifestyle.
Muted, all those abilities, of expression
In which you perspire,
Finding it hard to accept,
The love you need.
The love that you need has always been within,
Unloved by all commonsense,
The non-common effects delude you.
Oblivion is a soothing surprise,
To the pages of blotted memory dew.
The skin is heavy with glistening gold,
Malleable in the color of your lover.
Violet for your Chartreux cat-like eyes,
Green like the jealous fancies of your heart,
Crimson for your flushed face and,
Periwinkle for the pretty tears your eyes cry.
The love you want is the love that scares you.
The love, so lost, so rare and so bruised,
Now that it has found you, it has slobbered you,
It has banished you from the winds of loss,
The love that you need has de-corrupted you.
Coming in the faces of distilled illusion,
Pure nectar, honey, leaving you wanting more.
Lost under spells of confusion,
The love in your chest beats at the arch of your lover’s eyebrows.
Like when the Sun unravels to the night,
The moon raptures his soul.
The love that you seek might be gory and devastating,
Like mahogany colored coffins holding dead desires,
Or maybe, it is the Sun that delights,
Bludgeoning all the poets under the Selene nights,
Mercurial under a lover’s true touch.
Love didn't make empires,
Love doesn’t wield wars,
Love isn’t nature’s wrath,
Love is rather a blossom amidst deserts,
Love is rather the picture of a late wife in bedroom walls,
Love is rather an epiphany that cancels all fears.
The love that you would find is the love you are worthy of,
It is like an apple on a pine tree,
Unlikely, but a divine possibility.
Truth blanketed in coveted cotton of hope;
And a lot unsaid that lies in-between.
By Akansha Bhattacharjee
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