Articles

Another woeful lover

A maligned soul, breached

                By the thorny branches

And a heart, veins ripped

                With its share of crunches

O, that is the letter of a lover,

                One that is deeply soaked in its cauldron

Devoted, his lady’s worshipper

                Leaving behind his own charm, being a moron!

Seeing visions beyond sight

                Soul’s strength, beyond muscular might

Dedicating nights in his lady’s praise

And to earn her warm embrace.

So was this lover- chivalrous and bold

                But in front of her, worse than the old.

Why is he defeated such, a man of merit?

                He is in front of his beloved silhouette.

Drowned in the pool of illusion,

                About the shadowy bonafide

Unknown, yet known by deep conviction

                By his soul, mightier than his might.

His unfathomable abyss of belief

                Upon his hallucinatory vision,

Of Cupid’s cadeau, beyond all relief

                Thudding his heart with strange elation.

And then one day,

                A day not gone very long

Every colorful vision turned grey

                He lost the melodious song.

That lively cheeks and pink lips-

                All turned pale

Relinquishing himself to the chilly winds,

                He lost his scale.

“ O sweet lover, a man of command,

                Where are you lost now?

Stubborn as I am in demand,

Tell me what happened now?”

“Your cheeks as I see now are so pale,

                And where is your charm so bright?

Your mighty sinews, turned frail

                And you lose your courteous delight?”

And now the lover turned to speak,

                By now more mature, not that same freak!

His parched pale lips strived a form

                Quite inadequate to relieve that moron.

And inaudible it was too

                But he was wet, right through.

Wet with tears, drowned in its flood

                His hands lacked means and perhaps the heart

O yes, quite possible though quite strange

                But his lady’s very strong, without any grievance.

After a while, regaining his form,

                Satisfying his lips, looking little more strong

He made another attempt to speak

                With little more success like a geek.

Lapsus linguae to commence with, “Ay..”,

                And after another pause a lapsus memorae.

Regaining it, he made his speech-

                “The pleasure of life is love- without a breach.”

“Let us all love, make the earth a better place,

                I contribute to it by vacating my space.”

After saying so, he turned milky white-

                Rose up from his seat and made a flight.

A flight, not from the world of metaphors and street

                A flight, a jump from a cliff indeed.

And hence was his life’s conclusion

                The game of hearts; a voodooist delusion.