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bhaavna arora

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writing is like sex; you don’t have to wait until you’re an expert to begin doing it!

~ bhaavna arora


March 21, 2014 Poems

A moth is sacrificed to the candle
and for the thirsty a spring,
A true lover is a sacrifice to the loved one
be it a pauper or a king.

For being in love
no one can give the reasons,
It’s an urge, a desire, a pursuit…
to merge with the other in all seasons.

Some frighten: love is a burning fire
and think before you leap,
For others, it’s easy-to-begin, hard-to-stop war
which cripples and robs the sleep.

Ever since Brahma split himself into Manu and Shatrupa
the male and its eternal-half female,
They’ve been yearning for each other
like flesh for its inseparable nail.

Thus, God himself sowed the seeds of love
for the lovers to let them dissolve,
With death their bodies perish out of sight
but in love their souls evolve.

Love has no obligation, no expectation
and there is nothing like loss and gain,
It abdicates the throne, sans pump and show
though people laugh: What a bargain!

Love only blesses and is blessed with
it neither begs nor steals,
It wails and smiles in solitude
and in silence speaks what it feels.

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