931. When Love whispers, soft in moonlit air,

SONNET 931
By JH Sayyar
When Love whispers, soft in moonlit air,
It stirs soul like breeze through aspen leaves;
A soft fleeting sigh, too tender to ensnare,
Yet deep enough to haunt the heart it cleaves.
When Love’s a storm, it shakes the rooted tree,
And breaks the calm with passion’s thunder-roll;
It drowns all reasons in its all surging sea,
And writes its name in fire upon the soul
When Love is silence, still as winter's breath,
It speaks in gestures; half-known dreams,
Where absence feels more piercing than death,
Memory weeps through quiet, broken seams.

So let Love be — whatever form it shows,
A rose in bloom, or thorn beneath the rose