Define Love
"Define love," she asks me,
"How do you view it?"
How shall I view it?
How can I view it?
I can't describe love...
"I can't describe love..." I tell her.
I hear a short laugh over the phone.
"Are you in love?"
When he walks by, suddenly shifting
His pace to a sprint,
Like he is in haste, in a rush,
Like willing to win, running...
I smile, wanting to remind him
To take it slow, and stroll,
Because there are places you fail to see,
New worlds on the road...
When people laugh,
They prefer to relish the happiness
On their own.
When he laughs, its beautiful,
Like as if he taught himself to free
People from sorrow,
As if he taught himself to share
What he owns.
And he tells me everytime,
I am glad you're mine...
I smile, reminiscing that memory.
"Yes."
"Then can you define love?" she replies,
Her tone shifts to a conclusive one.
Love is...
"I don't know how to."
"Okay..." a short pause.
"Can you measure your love?"
I smile again, and my mind
Reveals to me our conversation.
"If my love and your love were stars,
My love would be shining brighter,
With way more fire, with way more love..."
But stars would die out too...
And maybe veil themselves with the dark...
And maybe hide behind all, or fall,
Would keep falling... the shooting stars
We wish upon are too quick & fail to listen.
And maybe they are too far apart,
Couldn't hear each other at all...
"If my love and your love were colors,
My love would be in infinite shades."
But there are darker shades too...
Can I measure love?
"I... I dont know."
"Think, I know my little sis', she's smart...
Can you measure your love?"
Can I measure love?
Can I measure my love?
No. Never.
I love him with a love that is unlike any other,
A love that heals unlike any medicine.
A love that shines brighter than any star,
A love that is deeper than any ocean.
A love that is warmer than any fire,
A love that is beautiful than poetry.
A love unlike any other love,
A love promised by me.
My love.
"No. I can't. I'm... unable to."
She chuckled. "Then how can we tell,
How can we measure?"
I smile, "You can't. No one can.
It's a measuring tape with no numbers and in short of tape."
"So, can you define love?"
"No."
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten | Poetry & Prose
PoetryH.R #3 IN TOLD | A collection of the told and untold, the hidden and revealed, but everything - all this and everything else - written down in solemn words, in phrases, compiled and collected as poetry and prose.
