Mi amor, come as abundant as rain,
Pervade my senses, render me restless,
Hold me in your spell. Do you see me swell
Akin to columns of wood, whose fortune you tell?
Beckon me from the shade, whence you dwell –
Illuminate every creature under your spell.
There’s no smoke but a million mirrors.
There’s haze, yet nothing’s obscure –
A perjury, but play along.
We feel like the union of the sky and earth,
So pure, we call it petrichor.
Boundless is your captivating allure.
Serenade me in your various forms.
Those who think you are dreary,
If they knew, their souls would long
Like an addict who found bourbon.
The obsession – to confine their lives
To witness you from dusk to dawn.
Tugging at my heartstrings, making me your pawn
You’ve caught me red-handed while gawking at you
Hot and bothered, a midsummer’s shower fierce;
Your mist-erious haze that I love to chase:
Your beguiling calm’s flippant grace;
Your passionate beckon makes my heart race.
Let your deafening crescendo roar,
Pepper your locks with flowers galore.
Your aura makes even Aphrodite implore
As it threatens her throne, her lore.
Let generations together sing your praises
Forever, with frenzied fervour.
Come, be the giver –
Love resplendent like a mother.
Make even the shyest peep out.
Of their dens to flaunt their vibrant colours.
Turn even the most ubiquitous shades.
Into clichès priceless, perennial like your foliage.
Your compassionate demure makes me feel secure.
It’s beautiful how, even though you’re on an
Insurmountable pedestal, you say to me
That every being is your essence.
Our existence intertwines, growing, blooming –
Each other’s soul’s mould. A bond for eternity to hold.
Show me your petulant storm, sour rage,
But do not tear these delicate pages,
Or flood them in a craze, locking me in a cage.
For gusts of gale are dour –
Don’t make your love bitter, even if I stay
Here for 10000 hours. I wanna enjoy every shower.
Oh, I pray, never lose your potency,
But do not overpower me.
May your streams wreak beautiful havoc,
May it fall from your temples
And imprison me in your locks.
A place where my heart is ever tethered, docked.
If I were a saint, I’d pray for your mood
To come and go like the season temporary,
But your grace to remain permanent
So that the future can bask.
Flowers are so pretty, yet ephemeral –
Yet the leaves and roots make your ethereal beauty last.
Written by Saurav Das for MTTN
Edited by Aarthika Srinivasan for MTTN
Featured Image by Katelyn Prazak on Pinterest