Love is strange. It unknowingly happens. Whether one wants or not, it just happens. In life, we are oblivious of the future. We are oblivious of failures and shocks, that might possess the capability of turning our lives upside down. The leading lady of this poem suffers a similar thaw, where her life is shaken convulsively. She takes time to recover, but she does, for love is the only feeling which has the capability to heal and help.
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Writing was her passion,
She wrote for him.
She wrote fine love poetries,
Where he was the ultimate king.
In the most perfect of times,
Strangest of tragedies occur.
This loss in her life,
Had left in her heart, a permanent scar.
One fine day, he left her hand,
And bid her the final adieu.
She was numb and shocked,
By the death of her beloved beau.
She stopped showing people her love,
For they had called her a bad omen.
All those scars and bruises,
Had changed her into a fiery woman.
To the people, she was crazy,
She did not love anymore.
To the people, she was mad,
She did not have any shore.
People now call her loveless,
But she is brave.
She still writes love poems,
Sitting by his grave.
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The Poetoscope
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