Both can twist a fate
Be it love or be it death
Death is but a smidgen kinder
A fair, if cold but a just minder
Some say, love is a bed of roses
A muse for poems and flighty proses
But is love really unlike the death
An eon of agony; a pre-ordained fate….
Since ages it has driven men wild
The passion has spared no woman nor child
A venom that gets senses riled
And grips you at its most unexpected while
Love, they say drives many deranged
It cannot be forced or arranged
This is true of death too; I suppose
A soul sighs and then an eternal repose.