My Love

Love is those words that are unsaid.

May be, in tears, it is fed.

Yet, those tears shine brilliant,

Washing off all the past; watering the present.

It takes away all your ‘self’.

It makes you bend and kneel.

But then you live

Standing with some strength unknown.

Love is sour; more sour, the deep you reach.

At times, you feel to spit it out.

Then, of course, you think how it digests

And gulp it in real relief.

It blooms like a flower

And flutters as you touch it.

But when you fail to notice,

It withers; decays; falls from the height.

It isn’t easy; yet, is tasty.

It is quiet; yet, quite outspoken.

It is more of a collage

Made up with meaningless, little faults.