Worship Love
"Love spread like blood in my veins. It emptied me of all else and filled me with my friend. All the pores of my existence belong to my beloved. Only my name is mine, all else is his." -Amir Khusro In a world where bitterness has blended into our blood, where enmity is born right between amity, and where trust has slipped out of the cracks of our souls: lovers remain victorious. Love-what a strange word it is-not a battlefield, nor a bed of roses; love is something shallow, something deep, a blend of harsh and wonderful feelings. Love is the only battlefield where the lover is never defeated. It is the only bed of roses, where the lover never sleeps. Love is strange. Society shapes us. It molds our brains in a way that we adhere to their myths, their ideas, and their morals, but among us, the rebels are born; the lovers are born. Love is sacred. It is the finest of religions. Every story is an extension of this word. Every tale revolves around its sacredness. Adam wandered