"In the name of love, though many spread
the false judgement of truce, all be laid."
The art thee the greatest gift &
the pavements were coloured brown.
Such the shine & such the shrine,
were laid over a perfect noun.
As the loved has no bounds, no limits
& the Almighty shall prevail it's wrath.
So, the meticulously odd, perfect to it's nod
was not a soaring species after all.
We humans objectify love, in sense of ours
but fail to see, to look over the wall,
a wall of judgement, foolishness and boundless.
Yet still, some manage to feel through beyond.
Sudden waves of passion reflects the moulds,
pieces to carve becomes what we craves the most.
Falling in love with an art, is an art itself,
but then I guess, all its meaning is now lost.
YOU ARE READING
A Quarrel in the Brain Park
ŞiirJust some poems I wrote, at different points of my life. Hope you relate to them at some point. Also to remember, it's a collection of poems so there are many genres. See if you'll like either of them.
