They say love is calm, like a windless sky,
no storm in the chest, no need to ask why.
But if that’s the truth, then riddle me this:
Why does your chest feel tight, your thoughts stray or miss?
Why do your thoughts circle, lost in a maze—
Is that really love, or just a smoky haze?
You call it love though you second-guess,
you overthink a touch, a look, a text.
Heresy love isn't chaos, or a heart set aflame—
It's quiet, it's constant, and it always knows your name.
Yet, years have passed for him to say you're "the one,"
what a fallacy— that real love knows when it sees one.
But what of those who don’t “just know”?
Who learn their hearts are slow to show?
Is their love less, because it took time—
to see forever in a crooked line?
They say love is calm, like a windless sky,
no storm in the chest, no need to ask why.
But is it passion, or pattern you’ve learned to replay?
A script you recite at the end of the day?
Is the spark still alive, or just ember and ash—
A dance without rhythm, a flame that won’t flash?
Is it love that you're living—or a role that you wear?
A comfort disguised as someone who cares?
They say butterflies mean it isn’t real,
that fire fades, and calm must seal.
Why must love wear a saintly face,
and not arrive in messy grace?
So ask yourself: does calm define the true?
Or is love the choosing, not just what you knew?
Maybe love is both fire and rain,
and real love isn’t found, it is made.
YOU ARE READING
Tulang Handog
PoetryA compilation of short tagalog or english poems about anything. P.S the poems are not related with each other. Not yet proofread
