I serve up my breasts, on a tray of gold
And my bard tells me, “Oh! Lo and behold!
You so short of my muse, miles off my heart
Can’t spark your beguilement, my soul’s fine art”

Why my unrequited splendor, seeks a spent man’s flair?
Two hearts scarcely stitched, in an unfair affair
While he reaps his stars, I change sides in bed
Neither penis, nor poesy, for this whore unwed

A heavy heart, a virgin womb, tell my soul exiled
“Would he father not ever, your unborn child?”
A wry smile slithers thru, my treasured tears
Why I fed on a prized bard, all these years?

Yet! When he walks with me, allegedly, my mate!
World gapes in wonder, at sweethearts conjugate
While he totters past me, on glory-paved boulevard
I run after my bard, whistling past the graveyard

How elegance sprouts, on a cold heart, I awe
Why geniuses are made, heartless? Art’s law!
Yet, I choose his tomb, for my final sleep
Engraved on which, “Old Bard’s, Another Keep…”

© 2016 Vikas Chandra