To

My Irreplaceable, tangled self,

The most beautiful heart .

The soul,So-

Magical.Mystic.Magnificient.

Mysterious in its own way

And

Uncanny in its own acceptance .

that looks like love and know trust by heart.

I know you've been tested, cheated and manipulated, a number of times.
I know you're broken, hurt and unloved a many times.
I know when you fell in love with that fair tone and those grey eyes and when they did'nt fell for you, How dis-heartened you were!
But love, don't be sad.
It did'nt work out because it was'nt meant to be.
Instead have faith that soon lights will guide you home.
To no-one but your own irreplaceable,tangled self.

Yours truly,
To be.

Gather the roses of love whilst it is time.

Like a harbour docked with ships ,
That Leave and arrive in the guidance of a light house, is my heart.
A shelter to the arriving and departing love.
Yes, but...non-guided.
Wrecked,Wretched and awful.
That once rented a gruesome space
to a soujourner.
A tenent unknown and untrustworthy.

Among the dancing daffodils
And there above in the milky way.
In all rhymes of Wordsworth
And in all of the Shakespeare's play.
"YOU" and "I" sublimed into us.

Few bucks could buy her rugs.
Or may be a loaf.
So,In need of a bread,
A mother sold her womb.
What a *****, you'll say!
But a mother too is a human.
Who could be hungry and cold!
Have you ever thought that way?

Pretty eyes,Pink lips.
Admirable beauty.
How sassy!
But wait, is that a brothel!
Huh *******!
Seconds you took to change your thoughts,how critical that is!
Now think!
To dress her younger self,
May be she undressed her self-esteem.
But you'll think the other way.
How unforgiving!

Love no longer seems to be poetic anymore.
No sprituality,
No romance at all.
Bruises on neck.
A cut on lip.
***** thirst,
Hunger and whims.
No longer kisses ignite the spark.
Sprituality of a hug is gone so far.
Hands don't wrap,they just slide in.
No shoulder to lean on,
But many tongues to synchronize with.
Love is shy.
Unhooked straps are bold.
Love no longer seems to be poetic anymore.

For so long, I've been under the covers.
Sleeping past the day and night.
They say you're someone.
Yet, no one in their lives
I believed, not me but them.
So Here, nothing has changed in my life.
But the day, I start to believe in me,
I know, the Sun will rise.

Faith is fragile yet strong.
A rupturous awaiting.
That ruptures not so effortlessly.
It's excitement, It's boredom.
It's pleasure and monotony.
It's grief, it's victory.
It conquers and it let go.
A paradoxical symphony,
Bitter yet sweet.