I’ll Skin That Nightingale Tonight

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

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