Lately
I have developed
An Appetite for Love.
In Love
I want to request all
the migratory birds
To deliver your
messages unhurriedly.
In Love
I want to weep alone
like a child
And name it your unique
brand of Love.
In Love
I want to write
passionate love letters
But never deliver them
to you ever.
In Love
I want to meet you
after decades of tiff
And confess my
countless deaths.
In Love
I want to eradicate all
the miseries from the world
But die of one myself.
In Love
I want to burn all the
newspapers of the world
And feed the heap to
dictators.
In Love
I want to name all the
jilted lovers
Martyrs of an unknown
realm.
In Love
I want to pronounce
Separation
As a Game of Desires.
In Love
I want to look deep
into your eyes
But willingly fail to
locate the epicenter of my sickness.
In Love
I want this poor poem
to end
At the huge door of
your elite house.
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