There are people and there are people
And there are those who are unforgettable
There is happiness when we meet,
sorrow when we part.
Love is a malady we have to suffer.
There is no cure.
There is an irony when love makes a visitation
from an unknown sphere.
It brings tears
It brings lessons,
unavoidable.
It washes away all regrets.
Washes away hatred and malice
from which we suffered
over those caused by others
and those we caused to others.
Like the monsoon in a city
it washes the sky clean
and parts with the season
leaving no traces on the streets
but leaving behind
an indelible mark on our being.
No comments:
Post a Comment