What is the difference between a martyr who struggles until the end of their life with their beloved, to be a rose for death, and a person who struggles but is somehow saved and does not die?

What is that voice of love in their nerves that makes them a martyr, both alive and dead? What is their voice? A rose's voice for death or a rose for death?

Proceed towards death as a rose is for a lover.

They made calls of love—echoes of love—for their safety or others' safety.

Was recognition ever needed when their internal spark was recognized by their own selves?

It is always a love song for the heart, which is now a beloved rose approaching death!

©shivpoetesspriya

They lie silently,  
Amidst the green lush of serene mountains...  
The calmness within them rejoices...  

Today, the important moment has arrived.  
This single drop of a tear...  
That seems to carry the weight of oceanic feelings...  
These droplets wish... I wish to never judge you.  

The smile that shines behind the pretty actions...  
Please see me and grant this wish...  
©shivpoetesspriya

Mother, when I see you in my heart,  
I miss you.  
Mother, when I feel you in my heart,  
I kiss your feet.  
I miss you and kiss your feet.  

Mother, when I saw the moistened eyes surrounded by the wet petals of your gaze,  
I couldn't sense what was wrong.  
How did I miss them, and where did I miss them?  

Mother, when I sensed those tears,  
I struggled to feel and to accept something in me and to change, but where did I miss them?  
Where did I miss them?  

The want to feel you in my heart swept over like lightning  
and returned when it was dark; it was then that I missed you.  
The dark is a deep color; I couldn't see you.  
But I felt those tears.  
And I still miss you.  
©shivpoetesspriya

Pictures of your love are  
stored in my heart.  
Can you please come and cradle them with the fabric of your heart?  

Your ears have eyes, too.  
The timely gaze of your hearing intent  
seems to read the matters of my message.  

Where are you?  
The laughter of love longs to be happy in your togetherness,  
and the bakery of my heart creates a sweet pudding  
with its most awaited tears.  

They write with the sprinkles and frosting,  
the deep anguish they feel.  

Why do you tend to turn away your smile?  
The messenger of the bakery asks,  
will you please keep your smile on?  

Please, will you?  
I may try not to let my frosting spray too much sadness,  
so will you please smile?

©shivpoetesspriya

When I saw your face,  
Did I miss the light in your black?  
Did I miss looking at your kindness in the black?  
Did I miss your black somehow?  
Did I miss looking at your heart in your black?  
Did I miss you?  
Did I miss looking at your black?  
Did I miss looking at the color of your face?  
Did I miss looking at your gleaming smile?  
Did I miss that twinkle when you smiled?  
Did I miss you after all?  
©shivpoetesspriya

Somebody is talking about my subject.  
I know  
The subject of love is popular as sustaining...

Somebody is talking about my subject.  
They touch the area of my heart and pluck a flower for themselves, and they are trying to think about my subject.

My subject and I are immersed in our daily talks.  
We see you and laugh.

The last thing I want to say aloud is that I am grateful to laugh alongside my subject.

My subject, I both miss you and love you.  
©shivpoetesspriya

You are my world.  
I found you in my emotions.  

The gleaming shine my heart tries to hold onto is flying away.  

I'm supposed to ease my lyrics like a safety glass.  
Can you see me through this window and ask me to join you?  

But you were left behind on the track.  

I felt the gleaming shine return to my heart.  
It fixed my safety glass.  

I see you across the same junction now.  
Shall we walk together?  

©shivpoetesspriya