I dreamed of roses,
The picture in my mind,
So exquisite,
That it creates,
An illusion.
This illusion;
It is found somewhere deep within,
In pockets that hold love,
So intricately,
So intensely,
It creates,
An illusion.
This illusion;
It might overshadow thoughts in mind,
Its silent yearning,
Becomes a part of you,
It yearns for a name,
It yearns for some recognition,
It yearns for a space,
in your heart.
This illusion;
Might shatter,
Its glass like figurine,
As fragile as love.
As with love,
It is breakable,
As with love,
It can bloom radiant,
As with love,
It is stitched to the strings of heartbeats.
-shobana-
All rights reserved. Copyright@shobana2019
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