What is it

If not folly,

When, unthinking,

Without a preamble,

Soon as my eyes

Close, your lips-


Sculpted with care

Like Cupid’s bow,

Before my mind’s

Eye appear,

Like some sacred shrine?

When your fingers

Appear as petals

Of a dream-flower?

When your laughter,

Intoxicating, rings

In my ears,

Like the music of

The orbs? When

Even in lonesome

Memory, your voice

Sets my heart alight

With a soft glow?

For I know,

That you certainly

Don’t deserve me;

That you are pathetic,

Arrogant, heartless,

Filthy as hell, and

Slimy and cold

As well.

Still I foster,

Knowing full well

That it’s a disaster,

Dismal hopes of love –

In vain.


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