When its sisters, it is different,
An instinctive feel to some things,
And, a knack to know persists,
Crushing qualms of reality.
There is a charm to knowing,
The urges of one another,
Whispers are not necessary,
When looks can tell the story.
Picking up shards of each others’
Scattered thoughts of distress,
Brining life to the ashen face,
Soothing what the world scalded.
Espousing among themselves,
The indefatigable forgiveness,
A rip can’t tear them apart,
A rip can’t tear them apart,
For love is a glue that repairs.