Himangi Nair |
Our type of Love
Dad says my type of love isn’t innocent;
it must breathe only into darkest parts of nights,
exist only beneath the farthest possible from skies
he says it’s the price you pay for being different
Mom prays for my love doesn’t make sense
her heart and head still have bitter, sore fights
she’s afraid of her young girl looking in her eyes;
having a personal opinion of hatred isn’t an offence
One Day, I’ll tell them about our love true
how, when our lips meet,
stars align by the moon
-how every time the sun flees to sea,
you’ll have me, and I’ll have you.
One Day, it won’t all be just a dream.
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