Spring evenings with pink fluffy clouds in the ever blue horizon perfumed with the sweetness of spring exuded by the delicacy of exotic flowers, this is the likeness of what Love should be. Effervescent with warmth with its glory at peak in physicality.

This is what Love is imagined to be.

A Love doomed to fail is one where the beloved is convinced their existence is an immense misunderstanding. And no greater dilemma is there than the reality of it all marred by ego.

Days folding neatly into weeks that eventually coalesce to months...

Did you miss me?
Did you think of me, seeing the gaping space between us, stretching ever tediously by miles of land and sea between us?
Did you miss the lack of it, where only the mere fabric of our clothes kept our warmth apart from one another?
Does it bother you, not being able to reach out and touch my warmth, being left with grasping yearningly onto thin air when overcome by nostalgia?
Do you take reverie trips when having my garments in your hands, smell my familiar scent to let loose the waves of emotions drown you?
Do you feel the emptiness around you haunt you menacingly and the cold of isolation, despite the warm sunrays bathing your room and kissing your skin?
Do you feel exasperated when hearing me but unable to touch me, feel me and just have me entirely?

I know you do, as do I.

The unpredictability of today and even more so of tomorrow makes the anxious more desperate for reunion, the many torn between inability to come together rave for some sliver of silver lining to get caught even accidentally by their convoluted fate.

Don’t worry, darling. The wait will be over. Soon. Until then, remember me and remember me often as I remember you so fiercely so I can come to you in your dreams, if not in reality, yet.

Fiery sparks blossom into magnificent blooms in the night sky as the New Year’s first hour dawns on the restless night crawlers, the colors that gave way to the booms of crackling noise reminiscent of the tumultuous beat of each heart.

Far from the mayhem, far from the cluster gathered to catch the joy effused in the air

Betraying the incessant gloom we were made to call our own yet bade it farewell with a sanguine heart hoping to enter and live the new days to come with the semblance of normalcy taken for granted but now long sought for.

Uncertain and bleak however it may have been, disparage and misery barely hidden by masks, one of the few many fortunate found something most unexpected in such times of strife.

Love.

A rose bud of the past now bloomed wondrously, the luscious depth of color in the darkest of red faithfully flaunts the trueness of its existence. One might wonder at the stubbornness of this bud despite being rejected or abused had persisted against the odds and blooms vibrantly. Be it winter or summer, it held onto itself truer as ever. Much like a heroic bloom had this Love come to fruition, and yet so far from being seized entirely.

Oceans apart, yet never a day passed to make the heart throb any less for the other. Hopeful for that day when touch may eliminate any need for words, conveying the warmth and desperation a longing heart suffers from indefinitely. Hopeful to walk hand in hand through the newness to come.

Here is a toast to the new year to enfold in the favour of love and fortune, here is a toast for the ones who have lost much to unite with a newness to fill that emptiness. Here is a toast to all the survivors of an uncertain time... A Happy New Year to You.

Can you hear?

chimes and faint whispers of a past near forgotten
it seethes and seethes of riddles and connotations for the one who lived it

unfortunately they, cannot hear it

gracious is the hidden universe
tenderly whispering through nuanced memories warnings and forebodings
persistent and ever so temperate
I wonder how the receiver in unable to receive such love

would I have done the same
to ignore the evident chasms of repulse echoing in the head
as one dives knee deep in ruination frolicking in the pretence of esteemed achievement?

Lady Fortune is certainly strange and unfathomable in her doings
As distrustful and deceitful as humans came to be
I’d still like to have a little faith the universe had yet to be contaminated...

Anew it once was
now withered, the glamorous sheen of splendour dimmed
Time plays the age old trick
of turning us all old
though should we not welcome
this ageing like fine wine
rather than be weary of its inevitability?

Love cannot flourish if Time were not to play its part
for Love can only be conceived as true and splendid
when weathered with the cruelty of chances and difficulties
but those storms bring more harmony than destruction
tethering those bound forever more together
Love is true in its promise
It’s only people who aren’t
So let not the world fool you
into thinking
Love is pointless
It is not
It never will be

A beauty that never fades in its glory
Love truly holds wonders in its warm security for those that know well of its treasures it nurses for the destined and lucky ones

A fickle yet adored fantasy
universally proclaimed lovingly by the same name
stands with much difference for each
for each has a unique lover
whose uniqueness cannot be challenged
nor compared
nor estimated

Though are we always to meet our fantasied beloved?
At the right moment?
Ideally?

Love is strange
an entity yearned for for ages
yet terrifying to own when the time for it comes
for we are afraid
of our beloved in our fantasies
to be marred by the realism we allow ourselves to indulge

Picking petals from a flower
‘To love?’
‘To not love?’
Promises nothing short of eternity of torment
So drop that flower
And take a deep breath
Look to the offerer of love in the eyes
And say ‘I do,’
Hope that they will love you
like no one has ever done so

Webs of star dust enwrap the weary and the subdued,
of those that have lost hope or wish they had some to look forward to,
of those stumbling over the earth’s obstacles in vain for want of something inhumanely impossibly to attain that which has long been forgotten to weave by human hands for it has grasped the more stolid and sultry materialism as its ultimate pleasure,
and of the many more devoid of Lady Luck’s bounties upon thee for there are many unfortunates I can ponder of and which I am helpless in fathoming their confusion.

What of them? Despite the comfort of radiance, they forget the meaning of that flickering light in their horizon,
to understand, truly,
what it means to be human, to feel
it has been lost,
even if that fine web may suffocate them,
only the peril of finite existence can truly grapple their soul in totality.

Ardour and bliss of consuming visually Nature’s bounties have long since been reduced to decorous eloquence,
the wondrous night skies with its constellations mapping infinities of destines;
of the earth and her planes stretching endlessly as carpets of green,
powdery gold of the sand shifting in its own mixing bowl
and of the roaring oceans that drown the screams of the lands in its calm,
none whatsoever can save a desolate soul least they may themselves see a part of them in the silent life that beats and screams around them.

They’re a fog of confusion, a conglomeration of unnamed thoughts and ideas that warrant recognition and are hopelessly left unknown,
wandering in their haze of misery and curiosity,
without any thought perhaps it isn’t wandering that might be salvation
but merely stillness for it may truly make their ears hone into the song of the world that sings endlessly to its beloved creatures to renew their vigor for a new dawn on its face,
to have the orbs glimpse the dynamic multitudes of the earth and whatever it encompasses perhaps to have one find themselves in the constitutions that breathe and throb around them,
oh what would they not do to see and hear? But they’re hopeless, downcast and disparaging,
for they’ve been blinded by the whispers of masked crusaders plotting their demise
with the ploy proving victorious by every second
unless they deem themselves capable of strangling the ropes of deceit that bind them in their despair,
Only and only then,
can the life around them aid in salvaging them.