Hear the lingering sting, in her, rapturous song
Yet estranged she, to that, timeless thorn!
The soul of pain, which all along
Fathoms faith, of love, with a sin inborn!
We’d watched her, perched on a, forlorn tree
A lovelorn sage, yet so, nonchalant!
To the truth, of her, yearnings’ poetry
That rosary, we’d learnt, to chant!
Now a forlorn me, sans your rhapsody
Whilst, she regales, a newfound sweetheart
With songs, laden with, her heart’s orgy
Not those, soulful psalms, that oozed Mozart!
It’s hard to bear, how should, I say
Her mating-songs, thru your, funeral prayers
That sage molted, to a popinjay
Who had been, the throb, of our heart’s despairs!
They say “Never kill, a mocking bird!”
But the one, who makes, parody, of my plight
How could, I leave, her undevoured
I’ll Skin That, Nightingale Tonight!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra