The ‘sweet-sour nothings’, betwixt two wizards
Smacked of, the manly, travesty
When a manhood, o’er a, woman’s shards
Built a tomb, of shame, and heresy!

“Your notes, don’t tune, to the, modern time
Nor you, change to, sartorial civility
Passé Dhrupad is slow, Khayal, the new chime
I despise, to death, your rigidity!”

“How cruel’s, your critique, like your fidelity
My flair on surbahar, transcends your sitar
I pity, to death, your anxiety
Must I, just give in; for the man, you are!”

“Thus, a duel ends, our duets galore…
Snaps strings, of a wife’s, love’s rhapsody
I chose to be, a martyr, in your vanity’s war
Since Your Sitar, Played, Satire On Me!”

© 2018 Vikas Chandra