In the Language of Hearts Love is not the thunder’s cry, But the quiet stars…

In the Language of Hearts

Love is not the thunder’s cry,
But the quiet stars that paint the sky.
It’s hands that hold when shadows fall,
A whispered name, the softest call.

It blooms in glances, shy and deep,
In dreams that only lovers keep.
It bends, it breaks, yet grows anew,
A sky reborn in shades of blue.

For love’s not bound by time or place,
It lives in every fleeting trace—
A breath, a smile, a tear, a song,
The home where both our souls belong.