A woman in love is a pilgrimage
Gods are afraid of.
She croons love songs to night jasmines and sky piercing domes,
Her salvation being in memory of her brown eyed lover.
A woman in love is a prison, with her lover as a king and prisoner.
Curved out of red mud, 
Bare to the bone,  
Her mirage dreams forming a monsoon painting over the tongue of her beloved.
A woman in love is a tomb no one knows about, but only herself,
And that's why she wants flowers, 
even though  she herself is 
a flower wrapped in skin.
A woman in love is a kite soaring against wind,
Watching her shadows flickering over her lover's eyelids on a sunny morning.
A woman in love is a jewelled dagger tied in bootlaces, a self murderer,
befriending apocalypse from the moment she listened to her anemic heart.
A woman in love is a dwarf star feeding fermented milk to marigolds, waiting for a missed train to bring herself home where prayers reside alone within bored walls.
When her lover leaves, she turns into the smile of a sick dead child and roam in the school of shy fishes with a war cry in her throat, never bothering anyone again.

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