Whispers of Heart

  A high-value person choose to walk away from anything not meant for them—with their head held high, a spark in their eyes, and an aura that feels unfathomably divine.

  When roses are met with no praises, Butterflies with strings, Beauty with melancholy— Who grieves? The thunders you hear are nature’s wrath, Rains pour down as she holds her tears. Her anger comes with the roar of lightning— Nature grieves today, For the delicate heart is hurt. The happy tales she recited Lead to paths unknown. With no peak to this mountain, The wanderer pauses, Collects courage, and descends Empty-handed. The visions, dreams, and coincidences Were hoax, not signs. The wanderer returns to things That effortlessly align With her values and aspirations— To see what the future really holds. This time, No trust in delusional admirations. So even if there’s a homecoming, The wanderer is lost forever. Where is the shelter? Where is the home? For someone who finds home In people Remains unsheltered. Where does the wanderer go When love and rage together grow?  

  And when they confess saying 'I love you', would you mind if I confess saying 'I want to go see Auroras with you.' ❤️

  If silence speaks, then let my voice immerse in the ocean of silence, forever. If fire is the way towards you, then let my heart burn until it reaches the threshold of yours. If days pass, and we grow old, let my coffin still feel the touch of your presence. If the genesis of fragrance is you, let me be the Eve, and let the garden of heaven be our home. The beauty you behold ruptures the rhythm of my amygdala. O dear, yet in my heart you form strata of emotions—layer upon layer. They say love brings peace, but you bring commotion. As electrons revolve around the proton seeking stability, my heart revolves around you seeking your warmth. The immense beauty you hold could bring down the Great Wall of China and my existence, could melt polar glaciers and my heart. It’s the beauty that brings pain— the beauty that hurts. You are so pretty, so achingly pretty, that it hurts.

Notice or lose it, It’s there — in blushes, gazes, and subtle cues. Ever wondered Why they stick around like glue? Like electrons revolving around a proton, Their gaze freezes on you, Even when you’re gone. It’s there, In a hope to be observed, To be respected the way they deserve. It’s there, In smiles, in a bend, in gestures. You know it’s there When their heartbeat ruptures At your presence. They make you feel like an interstellar, artistic beauty — Almost descended from heaven. If they have ten, They still wish to give you eleven. When so much is going on inside, The heart works an extra shift, The brain drops somewhere, And eyes wander — Yet the mouth remains shut. So let them ponder, To wonder what’s going on here. Think… think… and think, You’ll get it. When words fall silent, Actions take the stage. Shh… No words, just signs — You just have to engage!

Maybe the prettiest eyes And the prettiest smiles.  The one with the silky hair, And colour fair.  Love, appears to be about appearance, To be pleasing to eyes, To feel, and  Flaunt to the world. But is it that easy? On the path that's not straight, But curled.  Maybe the gorgeous eyes  penetrate your heart For a while.  Maybe the beautiful smiles  Make you smile for a while.  But what is beauty without  Kindness, Peace and Warmth? What is a bond, without  Care, Commitments and  Feeling from the core? May you find love In the most beautiful heart, Beautiful gestures and care.  May apperance come after  The love that's there Ruling the hearts and Mind, May the love be about  Mutual Care,  And the bond that's kind. Photo by Anastasiya Lobanovskaya: https://www.pexels.com/photo/man-and-woman-holding-each-others-hand-wrapped-with-string-lights-792777/

  Today, I see you.  Speaking to me.  As you speak, I observe more than I see.  Your voice feels bold, more manly, More firm, more authoritative.  Your face seems to grow mature.  The beard that felt like baby grass Now seems to grow long.  And life, Feels like a moving train,  Leading to our destination faster. The Spring I felt on Summer Solstice May die when Autumn comes.  The pretty Dawn must be you, And I, the Dusk, admiring you.  As if you are the North Pole And I keep looking up to you from the South.  The magic it is it seems, I utter words for you, But they fail to come out from my mouth. Days pass, months pass, What remains the same? The heart.  That have always been soft, Will remain soft, despite the thorns  On the way. Somehow amidst storms, Life happens, and prettiness arrives  Always, They say.