About Love
Love, the sweet honey,is rarely tasted under these clouds.
For lust, desire and benefit have always wore it’s shrouds.
It’s not love,when a boy says to a girl, "we are forever intertwined."
For what two lovers call love, is lust and desire beguiled.
If one of them were to get disfigured,their love would tumble
How can love be so fragile?
For a touch of a physical brush, shall make it crumble.
You say you love your people
But that caravan, only upto a certain boundary rides.
This love for your countrymen, is no love, but false pride.
Forgive me,but that between your parents and you is no love atall.
For your success makes them rejoice, for your failure, appalls.
So what is love?
To love is to walk around and not see figures.
You say you have loved, for you gave a beggar some help.
To love actually, is to not see the beggar, but yourself.
The world really never loves, people only peddle.
To an orphan’s hunger, it’s like a rationing Beadle.
Close acquantances wine, they age, enemies,they spike,
But to really love is to feed, Gandhi and Hitler alike.
When death, does your beloved call
Know that, it’s not necessarily for any vice.
You say you saw the body fall
But tell me, did you see the soul rise?
