Who magnified were ordinary or
blessed,
That Love’s universal, so all be Loved,
said;
But ecstatic it’s, conferred in
accord,
If all is bequeathed with, it, becomes
irreverence,
Shared uniformly, even bestowed
to who entitled penance;
Then there isn’t Love exists but
its fragments,
Demean its existence, adulterate essence.
I write about love not lust or fascination,
Nor regard or gratitude of one’s
inclination;
Love to All is inglorious, owns who
ushered,
Gestation ends with gloom not elation.
Where lasts few days any mortal covenant,
Seasons couldn’t be clasped on
rent or apprehend;
No rhyme or words can
encapsulate, such a seed,
Love to One or Few or None. Unaligned
with rest, indeed. 😊
©
Pranav Chaturvedi 2020