They call my love as a stubborn scar,
A wardrobe of photographs and roses.
A milky spot on the silver of moon,
An orb of sharp paper cuts and frozen dew.
They call my love as a stubborn scar;
A summer of longing,
An autumn of swimming in the ocean,
And staying afloat and shedding skin like air
A winter of anticipation for warmth.
Sometimes I slip across the steering ship of my volatile journey.
I chose to take the helm of my life –
As a wheel to a vintage carriage
A horse to a traveller
A scintillating arrow to bow.