Written by Aryan Bhalla.
Graphic by Quynhmai Tran.


You love her, so does she.
And so it is this love, that makes you we.
But love her pure, as does she;
For a love that is love is a symphony.

Or risk her sadness, and a grieving pain.
You can’t wish for love, yet you can sustain,
For a love that is pure is never vain.
For all the happiness that it helps attain,
Help you through storms and torrential rain,
Make sure it is love, worship its name.
And a love that is not, nothing from it will you gain.
If it manifests again and again, does pure it remain?
And is it love, if it happens again and again?

But her happiness should lift you up,
And her sadness should hark you so,
If your love is for her, then grow together ill,
And your love is love, if you love her still.
Let her feel for you as she does,
It’s a beautiful thing from that heart of hers,
Accept it with open arms,
And give it back without doing any harm.

But before you love her, be sure,
If it is love or a ship anchor which is heavy at its core.
For if it is love that you take and never return,
It is a sin that God will make manifest when it is your turn.


I am tired, yet fail to understand
How I unwillingly control my hand.
Every time it hovers over the wood,
And touches it again, not that it should.
A life in a world that makes me scared,
And I am afraid of proclamations
Intentions laid bare.
You are there like the bee’s sting,
You, in your visitations,
Can control my every hair.
It’s been a long time since you’ve been here,
And yet I see you almost everywhere.

Why is it that you, after all these years,
Manifest in so many fears?
You don’t let me breathe, I can’t set sail.
My ship there cries, even in spring is hail.

For all you’ve done, my mother has said.
One day I can kill you dead.
It is you, and you are inside me,
Yet I know we remain different entirely.

One day we will go head to head,
I wish to conquer this one dread.
And one day I hope I will end your time,
And it will be a glorious time in MINE.

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