Slowly it comes without a pause
Falling the gates of the heart without a force
Brewing under the skin and fuming on the crease of the face
It's softness whips the heart to dashing pace.
With a fair smile like the young petal of rose
It soaks the mind in a burning joy
The heart is ablaze yet no flame in sight
Nothing can tame its plague; not a bag of dose.
At the festival of love, brain isn't an attendee
For it takes man off his range of reasoning
Its venom rents the bulwark of power
Even Samson paid his might for the dose in his blood.
At the outskirt of law; it finds a seat
Fueling it's victim to swim a sea; for to him it's a drying stream
From inside it gears the thought of man; creating another world in him
For a man in love is in another realm of his only life.
