Love is the universe’s oldest mystery—
God is love—its origin, its flame.
A gift to humanity, poured freely,
He loved us first, unasked, unclaimed.
Christ, the embodiment, the scarred and the slain,
A love so fierce it fractures mortal speech—
A force beyond alphabets, beyond chains.

Yet our world thirsts, cracked earth begging for rain,
Hungering for love in each breath we take.
We preach it in pulpits, hashtag its name,
Profess it in vows we struggle to make.
But when the spotlight fades and the crowds disperse—
Is our love a river… or a rehearsed verse?

Is it selfless—a sun that burns without need?
Or self-seeking—a harvest of greed?
Does it kneel in the dirt, wash the grime from sore feet,
Or tally the cost of the wounds it repeats?

Love is a language that needs no translation:
Kindness its dialect, patience its pause.
It drowns every ledger, builds a new foundation,
Forgives like the tide erasing old flaws.
Love lifts the fallen, mends fractures unseen,
Seeks not its own, but lets others bloom—
A gardener of hearts in a world grown too keen.

So let us love louder than dogma or creed,
Not in grand gestures, but quiet, raw deeds.
For love is the echo of God’s own heartbeat—
A mystery we live, not just repeat.