Too many hands reach love’s bright door—
blind to the feast, they beg for crumbs.
The earth still turns, but something more
unfolds where love in silence comes.
Yours whispers? Mine is the sun’s cry,
kindling the dark with molten gold.
Planets sway in their silent sky,
tethered to truths too old to hold.
Because love lives, the lotus blooms in mud,—
a sacred flower born of dirt and dark.
Not spilling—no—the well runs deep,
where centuries drink, honey-slow.
Mars bares his chest, the Moon her keep,
bearing the wounds we’ll never show.
Lie to me. Truth me. Burn or fade.
I’ll be the tide that floods your shore.
Bound by the stars the old gods laid,
the pull that makes the black holes roar.
And when you gasp at how we blaze—
two shadows cast from one pure flame—
know each scar, every ash-lit phrase,
was love, signing its sacred name.
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Author:
Mottakeenur Rehman (
Offline) - Published: June 13th, 2025 02:50
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
- Users favorite of this poem: Priya Tomar
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Comments4
Mottakeenur this poem is studded with one splendid metaphor after another the whole poem being symbolic in nature. This poem requires a good deal of meditation each line needing reflection. Like the ocean it is calm on the surface but deep. Most lovely
Nice one Motta
Warmth of cool passions.
Sweet rhythms
Much meaning in this calm but very deep write, beautifully expressed and written
Love it
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