Post by Dr. Sindhu Bhaskar

SOME LOVES BECOME HOME Some loves become memories Some become songs we roam But the rarest love of all Quietly becomes our home. A portrait painted by the moon, Where silent wings forgot to fall. She came like music on the wind, Through silver rain and amber skies, Bright laughter as shattered bangles, Dawn asleep within her eyes. Gather silence from my soul, Turn trembling words to melodies, Walk through ordinary evenings Like spring returning to old trees. Her eyes held oceans, and stars Constellations softly sewn; Every smile became a universe Every heartbeat called me home. Stole my verses just to smile, Changed every ending into light, Teaching love was never spoken Simply learned to breathe nights She laughed like starlight Falling through the rain, Like roses waking after pain, Like lanterns left on empty roads To guide a lonely heart again. Our midnight wrapped in sweetness, Like roadside tea beneath the skies, Two restless hearts discovering rhythm, Learning love with laughing eyes. Love was never just arriving; Love was never meant to own. Always just a dance Soul somehow always knew Hidden in her laughter, Winter lingered in her gaze; A tired bird beneath bright feathers, Summer wearing borrowed days. Building impossible tomorrows, Naming mornings one by one, She already knew forever the promise to outrun. She smiled Memorizing every word, Every silence, every sigh, Singing one last hidden chorus Only heaven heard the reply. Every rainfall speaks her heartbeat Every neon writes her name, Every melody I hum at dusk Returns exactly as she came. She lingers in forgotten teacups, In quiet rooms and evening air, In unfinished jokes that steal my breath, Little kindness everywhere. She was never merely mortal; But was moonlight-learning rhyme, A gentle miracle of heaven Walking briefly into time. Past the waiting galaxies. She still laughs among the blue, Stars resting softly in her hair, Sending little pieces home to you. For love like hers does not abandon; It simply changes where it lives. When the evening gathers slowly, And silence fills the open dome, Listen closely to the waves They whisper her name. For some, loves become memories. Some become poems softly told. But the rarest love keeps blooming, Growing gentler, growing whole. A home without a single doorway. A home no distance can erase. A home beyond the reach of seasons, Forever living in one place The quiet chambers of the heart, Where time surrenders all it knows. Every wave that meets the shoreline, Every breeze the twilight throws, Every star refusing morning, Still carries her gentle song. It never truly ended. It only found Another way To belong. Because Some loves become memories. Some become songs. But the rarest loves Become home. (Grateful to my dear friend Branka Onofri,  from Denmark, for giving me her painting  for my poems, and my poems emote)