Emotions invariably infinite conceal,
Intrigue or implore, yet hard to reveal.
Impotent a heart unable to feel,
Its loveless ness, its anguish,
That leaves a taint of languish.
For an infant, a mother to caress,
For a juvenile a lover to possess,
For an elderly a wife to address,
Is all that makes life a boon,
Even if obscure impediments do swoon.
If life is a lamp, love is its oil,
That blazes it both achievement and foil.
For lost is all pain and wicked turmoil,
If one can see that infinite light,
However aggrieved or deplorable his plight.
Love is the reason for creation,
Love for one’s self causes ambition,
And loveless a life lacks in nutrition,
That crops in the heart selfishness,
And decimates the sense of selflessness.
Love is no crime and no lover is a swine.
For love in any form, is himself the divine
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