“Love is indeed blind”, the immortal immemorial words,
Laid it’s crown, through the Avon’s bard of bards.
Yet failed the crowd to read the deft insights,
Broke, a blind rebellion from the ages of might.
A vibrant petal flower unbound, yearns not the amorous eyes,
Nor nectars the covet of colours and the solicit of silver thighs.
Withers not with the seasons of blooming faces
For such is not love, that sings not these phrases.
Too blind, to fore seek the budding wrath of two households;
Of rooted creedism, could engorge into a wild revolt.
Too blind, they endure the thorns for roses embracing blemishes;
As they dance by the tuning soul, for their hearts to cherish.
Swayed its incense of infinity, gleaming in the bitter bleak shell
None were provoked but the bound tongue’s ironical bell.
And whensoever one’s in despair and disappoint,
The other is accused, blaming “Love…
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