they say love is a fountain
flowing down like the Victoria Falls
magnificent. genuine, indescribable.
they say it's where waters of the same current confluence
they savour the smooth and turbulent flows
together intertwined
with much deference and pure affinity
but what do you call it
when the sense of revulsion takes the helm
malevolent. antagonistic, forefingers poking
the open space into a fitful polka-dot?
is it still a flawless fountain when
blows rearrange your facial features
turning them ashen?
abrasion perhaps
i think it very unlikely
love does not lie in perfectly boned faces,
high social standards or fat credit cards
it is merely the promise of common hearts
unsurpassed by beauty or property
so the least a person should do
is let their love do the talking
Stella Sisanda Qishi
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/they-say-love/
