Heavy expectations, preparations galore,
To witness the night of glory and L'amore.

Moon was eager to rise and sun refuted to set,
That was the charisma of the night which the two souls beget.

Time was running and hearts started pounding,
To reach the destination and visualize the hearts rebounding.

An Italian rendezvous, at an Indian enigma of nizam,
In an exotic style of feast, they share a conversation of purism.

The joy within was inexplicable,
With the right aroma of love on table.

The rich culture of India's great glory,
With the classic mixture of king's short story.

The ******, an unmissable moment,
With the hand in hand the souls enjoy the love slogan.

Hearts were filled with joy,
And the angels bestowed their blessings and foy.

The night ended with heart full emotions,
Satisfied with magical love potion.

Reality made a dreadful turn,
Magical to ludicrous was that moment, spent with a deceitful spurn.

Falseness prevailed all over,
bringing down the purity to filthy left over.

Drenched in the sea of sorrow,
That night remained more like a knight mare, killing the beautiful tomorrow.

Certainly, that was the glory of the night
That it shall be remembered in the memories in sight.

his eye was on the sparrow
heavyset and rolling
in a great golden socket,
bulging in a way which told the
world
he was God.

with every touch,
so enlightened
so unoptional
so curse-d with understanding
yet the bird shrinks away,
for her wings and feathers find
no flight in
purism.

shelved somewhere with survival
was the epitome of Death
He takes shelter in the songbirds respite
and leaves nothing for her
winters, proving more onerous
with each shift of night.

and by the light of a meat-eating sun,
He takes his hand and lays it upon the earth,
with such an exclamation:
Mine! This word which in express means
nothing less than what the human soul can
manage.
Mine.

she is furious, alas, and lost so,
in agony she sings
she dwells in darkness,
and darkness is where she
belongs.