When love crosses the limit of being mine
It becomes the madness in others eyes.
Your love becomes the tool of suspicion
The beloved calls your love a demon.
People start calling you a torturous being
Curbing the freedom using blackmailing.
The lover can never understand the mistake
The crime which is love in her craving eyes.
Is this love really like the bird in my hand?
I press it tight, it cries and when loosen it
It flutters in happiness and flies very high.
Neelam Dimri
ReplyDeleteSutilmente tocante e verdadeiro, parabéns!
Seria bom dialogar com você sobre as impressões sobre o amor, a mulher e o homem.
Abraço fraterno,
Wellington
Not worth your tears!
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