L o v e
He sieves the sunlight through his fingers,
-Fine dust.
A questioning glance, a silent murmur, a lingering touch,
Greed, love, lust?

Pierced heart,
poisoned flames,
Whisper—"black magic”;
-why take all this pain?

Say, “Love is a rose”,
Can’t blossom on its own.
Bask in gold, sway in the rain;
albeit, ****** you when its grown.

She’s a wildflower;
a dandelion, a ****.
Unwanted; but pleasing to look at,
unaware of her roots- pays no heed.

His eyes trail back to his own,
hands shackled by their every word.
Eyes downcast, stumbling feet,
-Utterly incapable of being loved.

“It’s money,” they speculate,
For love is in beauty, love is in pain;
for passion to ignite and it has burning flames.

But time ticks away,
and they frail; them roses.
And they twist and turn,
- under the trials the wind imposes.

The mirrors, they shatter;
unluck-no trust;
When creases mark her skin,
and he grasps his hands around a cane;
Love isn’t beauty, only pain,
now only a bane.

- Every flame drenches,
  in moments of rain.


-Bareena.