(Written for Poet's pub pubber of the year competition)
Touch me not, she said, was her favourite plant,
Not for its green which describes love better,
Love is raw, which shades of pink and hearts can't
Depict, a emotion sealed in letters
It can draw one's poison out from within
Or inject it, in one virgin to hate
Weekday traffic hymns may sound like violins
Melodiously orchestrated by fate
There are quotes on love, but love is soundless
Which is golden, like love, not pink, even green
And if I could, in twelve lines, love express
I'd have a Nobel, an Oscar and all in between.
~Ajay
10/1/18
