Hues Of Love 

The hues of love are never garish or in your face
They are muted tones of ethereal shades
Swimming with powerful strokes across

Deadly swamps of sinister strokes
The colours of love beam from the ether
Feathery flashes of fecund flamingoes

Painted in vibrant values
Her honour , her respect , her pride
Doused in shades of your murmured love

Whispered by the north wind that hints of tulips deep in the valleys of longing
The predictable pinks never yell from the red roof tops
The trembling turquoise slips on ring fingers

Teasing the chestnut brown of her tresses
The fluid passion of subdued orange inflames the embers in the hearth
The crimson spills on Snow White pigeons

While the wine dances In her inebriated eyes
Let the rainbow arched yearningly in the sky
Hold the diamond prisms of true love
Let the tuberose spread its heady fragrance

And let the world  wonderingly inhale
For love has numerous shades we know
Each more sacred than the other one
And each lily petal more divine

When two souls get entangled in the mighty universe, there is an expectant hush. Some are rather unlikely looking unions too. The sort of person for whom Emily Brontë wrote – He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” The kind of love that stops being an option because it is a necessity. If he remembers you then everyone else’s forgetfulness seems immaterial. The mud and grime of mundane life acquire a sheen of glitzy glamour for those who have been struck by the cherubic Cupid‘s arrows.

”So I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you ”,  wrote Paulo Coelho, in The  Alchemist. This conspiracy is rather fascinating. These chance encounters, these meetings of two souls floundering in this vast universe defy the rules of common sense. The heart’s capacity is unique. No one, not even poets have ever measured how much the heart can hold. It absorbs shocks with guaranteed and quality-controlled shock absorbers. It is a sponge that soaks life in its fist-sized though titanic girth. It loves because it simply has to, not because it listens to anyone.

My robust hearted friends, who were huge Punjabi gents with hearts larger than their ”dhhai kilo ka haathh” explained to me very early in life that ”Pyaar naal te koi Jaan vi lai leye ‘”( one can even ask for my life if they ask with love )How surreal, isn’t it that an apparently unknown human can wield such power over one? Charlotte Brontë , said,” I would always rather be happy than be dignified.”Such is the power of the universe. “Ni main kamli haan.. Haaji loge makke wall jaande ,te mera raanjha  mahi makka…” Oscar Wilde feels ” The heart was made to be broken”.  Strangely, I am thinking of “

“Yeh khuda jaane nazaan kahaan kho gaya?
Kuche kuche usse humne dhoondha Magar
Dotson se jo poochha toh kehne lagge
Woh Haseenon ki galiyon mein maara gaya “
For , the crux of the matter is
ishq par zor nahīñ hai ye vo ātish ‘ġhālib’
ki lagā.e na lage aur bujhā.e na bane “