"Is this the way you
love?" She asked me.
"What is love? What is my
love?"
I asked me more questions.
I loved asking them.
Are they my real lovers?
Did those questions ever love
their answers?
Then how they be my love?
"Love is the answer".
Crawling over me she told
Thus gone my questions!
But where did they go?
Is love a question killer?
I still have that one question
"What is my love?"
"You love your mobile only?"
She complained to me once.
Does my love reside in that small
screen?
Am I romancing with mobile
browser?
Is my relationship status
'online'?
But they can’t tell my emotions.
Then how they be my love?
Black pranks of ink on paper.
She called it printed books,
More than them she wanted my
eyes.
Her jealousy labeled me a 'book
worm'
Is reading and knowing my love?
But beyond that black and white am
I nothing?
Then how they be my love?
My vision was lost in those blue
hills then
While placing her head over my
shoulders
"Why you always love to be
alone?" she asked
It’s fun to be lost in nature,
Wasting nouns and adjectives for
its description
But what is humane in that love
of solitude?
Then how this be my love?
"Are you sure that you love
me?"
"Of course I do". I
replied her
But who is she?
How is she my love?
Never knew her, never met her.
The mirage woven into my reality
Loving the unreal her is the love
I love
I won’t argue further about this
love
