A Rose š¹ is a Rose š„ is a Rose š
From: A Rose šøin the Garden of Peacešļø
I say with quite an unswerving conviction that whatever form of posterity love ā¤ļø takes through me , it surely draws upon a wide variety . Itās range extends into similes, metaphors and as well into parodies, with underpinnings that make me tantalizingly closer to love more than any. It whispers sweet nothings as in verses carelessly spreading in sprees. Intently so, its Provence alongside its piercings, underlie in the following:
Disclosureā
Dear reader, this then, above all the deep down revelations, dares in exacting ( rather perfecting it, here and now,) the didactical tonal cleaves of love; vaunting nor wailing to the end of this excessive. To that, bear me in peace!
And as is, it equals toāme celebrating you in me, as originally as can be. Indubitably so, for my sort of poetic utterances, perhaps landing more fairly, (now more than ever, ) over your eyes, to envision āWHITE brighter than bright , as in peace šļø.
Though it may not be precisely clear but here comes a verse field of emotion depicting love as I view it ā¦
Love can be crafty,
Love can be sweet,
So is ,Such is , Said of it !
And as is, What is, Sung of it
Blessed āre verses which sail on it
For Loveāso requited, thrills on itā¦
Lingering bold, as a warmth in folds,
Showing itās worth in the winnings of it,
And by all itās means,
and all by itself ā-
Oft bestowing a solace astride,
For every need longing on it
Over fostered fires,
evoking extinct desires
As well āto see, what comes of it
With spirited fervors, inlaid ālovelier,
as spring āforever, basks on it
Yet, we make it sure, to be so assured,
and still wonderā-
What cād be truly made of it ?!
In hiding more, but feeling more than hunger pure,
than must we speak āboldāof it
For oāer the glints , it glitters in gold,
As sun-dews subtly whisper on it
And to think of an hour,
in that crush of a minute,
who will be it ā¦ harboringāstill on it ?!
For many a shades, in colors so made
As guilds of golds grace on it
This is how amazing, love can feel
Witnessing itās woes;
so mended , so blended,
With smoothness so stitchedā
As accents to linger deep on it
Not seeing how,
but in the graces so pure
it sews ā as a suture,
with all itās cures,
fixing hurt thatās likely to come byāWhile despair decides to pass on it
And as is , was as, is the case of it
Neither was it mum nor can it be meek
Forth in wanting,itās always so sleek
Sometimes bending, all on itās knees,
and other times falling and howling āhead over heels
Oh! But allās so sweet , itās just so complete
So be it ! So be it! As we think of it, Becoz, It does itās all,
in tricks so called;
Befallen for the most part, is the beauty of it !
Love ā¤ļø! š«āØ š§”š¦¢š¦¢š¦¢š§” āØš«
Ā© February 29th, 2024 by Madhu Goteti
P.S: That was my way of Introducing love āthat which has grown in outcome for many many years in my life. Through actions, commitments and excitements āit marked frolicsome feels as if doubling throā times tables ( mathematical types š,) rounding off , all metrical fields āso aright! And sometimes, it did cut like a knife āmuch against itās natureās mind. That was like days months and years cut short of any sunlight. By and by, as miseries bade a final goodbye ālove furnished a warmth āwhich even any āsweetly errored teas,ā cād never -ever satisfy. Also, love to me is an inevitable burn ,as frenzied as some inordinate pain in the *ss or what might seem like an itch (at times ) in the groin š¤£. But then , marching ahead āsteadfastāand by grinding sacks to the mill, it brought me good respite. Yes, love has floundered along those steeplechases so infernal , so internal āraising embarrassments by itās rides. More so, especially when, it threatened to ride āstraight upon those highs. But, by caring nothing , as I lasciviously sang ā burn , burn, hide and run ; why have you dared to slay me so sudden ..oh , such coming to me āin āsuch a condition ā¦Oops! yet perennially like an sporting infectionā¦ here and now ..as indistinguishable as ever as an age oleā collation ā¦ arrived?!
But probably āat once āremaining cross eyed in sheerness to survive and as as anything germinate in itās total perfection āredressed in a timely mannerālikewise . Such so beating all springs to buds , gentle and wise in all itās guise.
Yes, love at times had been that hard ānut cased ābehaving itself quieter than quiet ā¦ vainly somewhere like all had been said- unsaid as all ended ,within no reason , seemed expired . And old (saged ) as I am today I believe for a fact of it, I have somehow survived with it ( love) as it is āreminiscent in me, thence with you in me ā-as in one spirit ā¦.
Love ā¤ļø now and forever exists in a place where it has managed to carry carings in all heaps. Hurriedly many a times it trenches in some battlefieldsābut oftentimes, places itself into unknowns āwhere honeycombs of rich nectar filter into many emotions deep.
And if everything remains as intact as it ever was , as I so speak š£ļø it ālove š¹ā¤ļøš„° may or might plummet poesy much like this :
And when this swell of the autumnal rose, dries out, lain shriveled, amidst those shriveled trees ā
Thereabout, unshaken, a dawn shall rise with itās pale yawns shields
And overwhelmedācoming so ,moving along , and in all itās leveled spiels
A sheerĀ evanescence shall get up, dress up, for yet another ānaked truth to be reborn in supernal fields
āLOVE ā¤ļø shining in eternal light š”! āŗļøšš
About the Creator
Madhu Goteti
The thrums in the strums and the delights in the humdrum of life have always fascinated me.
Itās that feast of reason and flow of soul; in all that I see and all that I shall behold!
I am an avid lover of art and philosophy!
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