History

Of hope and tragedy
that repeats itself

Of smile that reaches the eyes,
masking the forlorn

Of people born to the Zodiac
Of losing love that was never yours

Of butterflies in the stomach
Making you feel lonesome again

Of history repeating itself,
For some things shall never change.

Of Gods and Goddesses

                                                         Apollo by Michelangelo 

like Velcro
they rip your skin apart
scabs of red flesh protrude

the gimmicks of the diety
cupid's hysterical
lovestruck, the pain is sweet
like sulphur on a wound: melancholy, but sweet

the symphony of eternality
of the bittersweet ache
we call love
is heard not by the gods
but the mortals.

Broadway Love

The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return- Moulin Rouge

Reciprocation. Balancing the act, like a scale. You're not fair if you don't. That's what Hollywood taught us. It's ingrained into us.

Love must be scored. You love me to the moon and back? I love you to the moon and back times two!

Love is overrated. And unquantifiable. Love knows no answers. What is it that you love about her? If you can answer, you probably don't.

Love is everything we don't know. Is it the butterflies in the stomach? Yeah. Yes it is. When you're 14.

Love is doing math together when you're 17.

Love is not knowing when it's going to end, when you're 20.

Love is saving up on your first paycheck to go see them when you're 22.

Love is hoping it will never end. But it does.

Love is the acceptance of love.

Taurus

Black Raging Bull
History mapped on him
Smile that touched his eyes

Venomed
By love that was never his
The world
That he was never a part of

Sublime
Subdued
Tranquilized

The star in his eyes
Burns ever bright

Knight in shining armour
May the metal on you never blight.

The Wisp

A wisp
floating,
gliding,
zooming in and out of abyss

Eyes,
The colour of caramel melting
Hones the skill of seeing past it

The Horizon
With its seductive snare
The promise of warmth
Of youth
sings with all its galore

The Wisp
Condenses away
To vapour
To particles
To nothingness.

The pupils constrict.

Stubborn

Be the stubborn frizz
Or the rigid stubble

The imminent morning alarm
On a forlorn Monday

The spec of weed in the perfectly manicured garden


Love them,

So deeply,

Fanatically,

Habitually.

The Forgotten Mistress

The constriction in my throat tightens.
I can smell you around me. Your gentle presence. Like the timid jasmine runner that once adorned the garden. The garden that you loved.

It has now lost the bloom. It may be greener. But it cries for the mistress.

The garden isn't alone in it's mourning.