Love Hurts
Love hurts,
It hurts to the core
When hands loosen the intimate clasp
And they turn poles apart
One rushing to the North
And the other, South.
Love hurts,
It hurts to the core
When the bunch of withered roses
And thorns, leaves and stems
Gather dust on the window sill
Of a dishevelled house.
Love hurts,
It hurts to the core
When they don't look eye to eye,
And Love is no more blind,
For a raging storm from nowhere takes over
The effeminate steam of
The wintry-morning cup of tea,
Over the bitter argument
Of perfect spoon of sugar,
To be or not to be added
To the flavour of real Indian tea.
Love hurts,
It hurts to the core
For the waiting hurts me more.
