Where Time Stood Still: Radha Krishna

In the hush of Vrindavan’s blooming grace,
Two souls danced in a secret space.
No vows were made, no rites were read—
But the universe watched with bated breath instead.

She, the river that refused to flow,
He, the moon that made her glow.
In every glance, a thousand lifetimes passed,
In every silence, love held fast.

Not lovers bound by worldly thread,
But soul to soul — beyond what's said.
He played the flute, the world turned pale,
For Radha’s name rode every scale.

She never asked him to stay behind,
He never asked her to be defined.
For theirs was love that let love be —
Not caged in ‘mine’, but wild and free.

A love that walked without a name,
Unwritten by fate, untouched by shame.
No palace, no crown, no golden rings—
Just forest paths and whispered strings.

She became the prayer on his breath,
He became her dance beyond death.
And though the world remembers the parting pain,
Their love still rains like monsoon rain.

In every temple, in every sigh,
In every tear, we don’t know why—
Radha and Krishna rise again:
Not in flesh, but in hearts of men.