Fire

Your love is a drop of water
It lightens to air, floats,
Condenses, and rains.
The grass shoots.
Leaves dance green.
A new life is born.
But in drought, krishna
There’s no drop to be had
During endless summer months.
Only sterility stares at death.
Your love is an act of control, krishna
You give as generously
As you coldly withhold.

My devotion is fire
It’s without control
It scorches indiscriminately
Anything it touches.
It singes the universe
Brands its own destiny.
Kindles its own blaze.
My devotion fuels itself.
Even dying as an ember
It burns in love
It gives off heat.
My devotion is only about
Giving and being consumed.

And isn’t this madness exactly what you fear, my poor scalded krishna?

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About Bhumika's Boudoir

I love to laugh, and end up being a part of high drama and stormy emotion even when I don't pursue it. Being creative, and communicating with people get me going. I enjoy all the good things in life especially those that are slightly risque, and apologise little, if ever, for all that I do. Literature is a passion and so is music.
This entry was posted in Blue Funk, Idle Thoughts, Intoxication Induced. Bookmark the permalink.

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