The Suitor

Love is an art by itself, the heart is meant,

To be loved, for it knows no other language,

Well, may be, of the unspoken emotions.

Heart-broken! The sincere lover is, time again,

Flows out – sure, a test to me and you, to others

Teaches a worthy lesson and I am much beholden

To this Master, the one I look upon – Time.

He has been very generous, giving me chances,

So that I could make the best use of the next,

If I missed any in the past. Honestly!

Kind is my man; he knows the finest tricks,

Naughty wiles played on the heart of this traveller

Strings of joy, sometimes of sorrow, yes.

My man, my beloved, keeps changing,

Altering in showcasing his antics, trying hard,

To grab my attention, for me to respect him,

To respect my beloved, to respect love.

A delightful desire it is, I must accept it.

Mean he is, for he becomes so selfish,

But am I looking straight? Is my view clear?

No! My eyes are veiled, with politics and un-truth;

Politics of the mind – that win over heart’s truth.

As that of a child the heart must be, they say – mine is not,

It cries, it laughs, and it experiences – all in solitude, loneliness;

It grabs no eyes especially of those who feel empathy, no.

Inside, the heart grows, adamant it grows,

Listens to none, cause is the one dear to my heart –

My beloved, my man, my suitor – the Time.