The Love poem


I sat besotted with mind over things fanciful,

till you came and picked up my mask of carnival,

Play and don’t play marks the beginning of love ascetic,

who willingly goes running for heap of love with pathos,

his fingers dipped into cloy clay and a statute of God as being,

hangs in front for the love blessing.


I am cold and effete waiting for your movement made to love,

come maybe the solemn desire of holding you in arms,

and vague painting holds me back, a salute for positive energy,

I am sunk deep into myself willingly tying the knot with you,

for art’s prelude and artistic mindset, there’s a loose painting,

of indistinct color but I think you in the frame as having picked the sadness,

of bright moon only to splurge the light upon my face,

I am fighting to hold the ground with you and with love in these days.


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