The Artist

The womb that is made up of  dreams and memories
You mercilessly paint the portrait of the unborn
Can hear the musings the singing the giggling
Be it unborn, but she whispers,
`to be loved is enough`
`to be loved is everything`
it is the only most beautiful of all
beyond the universal primitives
that I perceive
And thy love is art
And happiness is that
Love is happiness
And you create me
again and again

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