Letter XVIII

Into our arms, no hurts no harms
Yet, Love, no brokenness can efface.
Into our arms, I win & lose,
& needed there, no chants no charms.
I savor tastes as we embrace;
Tastes in my soul as Love suffuse.
Into our arms, a divine dose
of Love into a world morose
of identity in a nihilist mind.
Into our arms ourselves, we find;
blossoming as intimate as we turn.
Out of our languished past, we yearn
To the quintessential second
in which ourselves we reckoned
—unfolding into our hearts as we fold.
Into our arms, our broken parts repaired in gold
wreathing the stories we’ve kept untold;
dressed into the rust of times,
garnished into the lust for rhymes;
the lust for lifelong songs & hymns as such.
Just as our hearts may long to touch.
Into our arms, no sorrows hide in our tomorrow.
Into our arms, all worlds will relinquish despair.
For Nature will remind her own,
—remind ourselves of the love we have known.
Into our arms the sands of time
—the sands of time they freeze.
Into our arms, space becomes sublime
& God rests in our hearts at ease.
Into our arms, we rise above the norms of earth & laws of ground
we taste of Love we never had—the passion we never found…


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