Whispers of the Heart
Simple Tales of Love in Everyday Moments
In a universe of splendid varieties,
Darling strolls in delicate twilight.
Eyes like stars, a delicate look,
Murmurs of affection, similar to a sweet surprise.
Inseparably, through fields of green,
Guarantees made, yet concealed.
Chuckling moves in the air,
Two hearts bound, a relationship.
Dawn kisses on the shore,
Darling's touch, forevermore.
Basic minutes, unadulterated and valid,
Love like daytime's shimmering dew.
Through storms that might come in their direction,
Sweetheart's hug, a protected straight.
A story of euphoria, elegance,
Darling's excursion, a warm hug.
In the calm of the evening,
Stars observe love's delicate light.
A story written in the skies,
Darling's bond, no sweet farewells.
For in the heart, the story is told,
Darling's glow, never develops cold.
A song sung by the bird,
Timeless dance, everlastingly love.
About the Creator
GOWTHAM
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making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar4 days ago in Feast
Comments (1)
Awww, this was so lovely! Beautiful poem!