ZARA M.

 Dear Heart,  I wish we were butterflies, free of all the chaos, past and present, and untroubled by the future. We would have flown together to continents, chasing seasons, witnessing blooms unfold, asking nothing in return but the gift of the sunrises under the same sky. Until I write you again, Bye. ~Zara M.

Dear Heart,  I encountered you in a dream last night. There was you, there was me, in a crowd full of people. You looked at me, I looked at you; no exchanging of smiles, just cold looks: unconfident or perhaps tired of each other.  As the hours wandered on, I watched you approach me, but it was not for me. In a room full of people, there were two hearts which once adored each other deeply, and now stood aloof from one another.  As you came nearer, you looked at me and passed by without exchanging a single word. Our souls continued their quiet course; our hearts, though they still beat for each other, unfolded in silence.  There you moved past, and the idyll turned to tragedy, where we dithered around each other, craved one another, yet fed the iciness.   Though the dream contained you, it did not truly contain you.  With a heavy heart,  ~Zara M.

Dear Heart,  Reading Dante today, I am reminded of the idea that knowledge has limits but love does not . Though he celebrated reason to a great extent, he also recognised its limits, and that it was not fully enough to understand reality. Beyond a certain point, reason must yield to love. For a moral life, intellect is indispensable, yet love remains equally significant, for when one loves rightly, it becomes a path that leads the soul toward God.  I realise how paramount fondness is in our lives, yet how often we avoid it in the hustle and bustle of living. Our age has leaned so heavily towards intellect. Many people reach remarkable heights of intellect, while failing to recognise what fondness can quietly do for us.   Much of medieval Christian thought speaks of finding God through the  path of love. How beautiful this idea is, resembling the spirit of Sufism of Islam, where love, too, becomes a means of drawing nearer to the Divine.  I have always ador...

Dear Heart,  Sweet Pea I see us as part of the same literature we both equally admire. If I tell you honestly, the fantasy I have carried throughout my life while reading English literature, I now see quietly coming to life.  Today, reading Emily Bronte, beneath an open sky, in pleasant weather, all my mind could think was that there is someone in my life who shares the same love and taste for literature as I do. If I tell you honestly, all my life, I had always believed that French and Italian literature leaned more towards reality and deserved admiration for that, while English literature belonged to the countryside, romance, longing, and separation.  As life moved forward and you found your way into my seasons, it finally clicked why English literature has captivated hearts for generations. It fills life with life, gives ordinary days their own poetry, offers seasons to cherish, and teaches us to find meaning even on the descent from the hills.    As the lite...

 Dear Heart,  Here are moments when my thoughts wander to the hope of what if we could get to exist side by side with each other for eternity? If only the dreams I have carried could take the shape of reality and we could build our lives together, sharing moments, pretty little secrets, and our own tender vocabulary with one another. A life where even the ordinary could have felt extraordinary simply because it was shared with you. Till we meet again, ~Zara M.

I was born to have flowers beside me: sunflower, marigold, and goldenrod, no longer matter. What remains at the top is how you ask the spring to fall before me. My delicateness and your strength, the universe puts us to the test; together, we are at our best. The harder we resist, the deeper we coexist, and our hearts remain entwined. As destiny twists,  the gentler we kiss,  and the world blooms in spring. As you puts flower in my hair, the orchard dances in the air, we bloom beyond compare,  and every season becomes our prayer. ~Zara M.

Dear Heart,  Moonbeam The sky is growing wider, the stars shine a little less brightly on my side, and the moon often lingers behind clouds. None of this heralds your fading from my heart but things are getting slow.  Turns come, and lives move to and fro. The sky does not remain lit all the time; it is upon us to see the shine in the dark, I am on it, but trials do not leave my way; the past lingers. I have always believed in seeing sheens when it is gloomy and finding a way through the murky.  Though standing at the edge, I am sanguine about the dim, yet joyful that your existence is healthy enough to fill my life with substance.  Until the stars permit, ~Zara M.

April reflects my inner seasons: soft sunshine, new leaves, and blooming orchards, a time when the fading winters greet awakening springs. Together we unfold the life's new strings,  whether attached or attached remains a debate. My poems rhyme as the pearls of your voice,  as though they had never been given a choice. Everything aligns as April comes alive; us and the sunshine, beside one another, very much alive.   ~Zara M.

Dear Heart, Buttercup I am often at a loss when I wonder where my metaphors come from whenever I write about you. Every page I colour is filled with what I see in you; these metaphors arise from the heavens you show me, and I merely capture them in my writing. What I ink down are the images you leave behind, a million colors of you. Being a writer, I simply preserve what you carry, for it is too precious to let sink into the mud.  I do not create images of my own; it is you who holds them within you. I merely gather them and give them a place to rest upon these papers.   My literary art owes itself  to you, for without words, images, metaphors, a writer has no place to exist.  Till the next you come, Bye. ~Zara M.

You are Sirius to my entire sky, shining so brightly within me that the world pauses and stares. It is your light that outshines mine, your reflections that undo me, and words that flow out of my tongue like petals. You have belonged to me since the Big Bang and will continue to belong to me through eternity.    Our souls recognize what we could not embrace; every midnight the stars rearrange to tell the stories our hearts already know. Every constellation sketches your name; each galaxy paints itself in your colors, and the Milky Way preserves the images of us it has already known.  ~Zara M.

Dear Heart,  Sunflower All the flowers in the world together possess the softness you embody. My conversations with each of them always find their way to your features. I tell them that I hold the human version of floral petals in my life, one who carries the gentleness of a blossom; I remain unfamiliar with your fragrance, yet I am certain it smells like a garden in spring.  In you, I have experienced every season, and each one, with its own character, has become my favorite. You carry within you, the sweetness of mangoes, citrus of oranges, the beauty of cherries, and the delicateness of lychee, all wrapped in the gentleness of a blossom.   Every season is yours, fly as far as you wish.  Till roses turn blue.  Bye. ~Zara M.