A fall, she seemed, in the, throes of spring
Who smelt of, dusk-kissed, daffodils
In a, dying heart, life’s, last longing
“Every wish appears, as old, as the hills”!
She wasn’t young, nor was, she old
Half spinster, was my, full mistress
That long-gone, lass, I’d pigeonholed
To a toy-of-joy, with a, man’s finesse!
“Nuptials…, are no, sacrament…!
…You’d lied, to me!” she had, lastly sighed
Whilst, I sat, by her, with a, shame unspent
She dared me, to death, even as, she died!
Those staring eyes, spat, satire!
Her mirrors, of my, manhood’s guile
And to, baptize me, in hellfire
She Left, With Me, A Haunting Smile!
© 2019 Vikas Chandra