Poets In Love

When two poets fall in love,

The treasures of the world heaven are unleashed.

The derelict usages find a new place and meaning,

The extinct ones rise up in all its glory,

And revels in their newfound identity.

The sky falls short of stars,

Spring becomes a pauper of blooms,

The rainbow paints a poor picture.

They count the sands of the shores to the last grain,

The waves voluntarily give account of their number,

They woo each other with mountains, rivers and the like.

A strange understanding that they had been the wine,

In each other’s goblet, dawns like a revelation,

They split the last atom of the last drop, seeking intoxication.

Staying in each other’s eyes, they become the sleep and the dream.

When one becomes the bird up in the sky,

The other becomes a fish and dives deep into the aquamarine depths.

Never corrupting each other with a kiss or a hug,

They prefer to die longing for it, burning in the fire.

Distancing themselves in sadistic pleasure,

They savour the pain of severing the hearts.

The burning refines the words they mould from their agony.

Withering down in flesh and blood, they compose sublime verses,

The words of endearments itself runs to volumes.

One who has never know the trauma, insurgencies,

The catastrophe, the tremors and terrors of love,

Can never become a poet, as you know, Love -

Is an all-encompassing discipline in itself.

When two poets love each other, they fall into a furnace,

They glow red hot, but never get reduced to ash.