Beloved, don’t think that I’m
Speaking it out of ebriation;
Heart’s depth wine can’t fathom,
Only distilled souls scent gyration
Of body, heart; and her figurine
Moving, inspiring, cajoling for conception,
Which minds never normally design.
Oh! My unfaithful lover,
Me pine for thee as afore,
When thou flooded this heart with thy shower,
Whose wavering tinkles reached this mortal’s core,
Mortal still I’m; yet immortal!
For thy love always kindles soul,
Sleep thou now amidst that bliss marital,
And slap me as only destiny’s play foul.
Thy love lightly flickers still;
Thou adorn heart’s treasure tree,
Me, but, on the verge of fall from the hill,
Still, during the fall pray I’ll for thee.
Fate may qualify me as a lover failed,
Yet in defeat lies my greatest win,
For, my sweet failure destiny hast hailed
As the success of the Lord’s grin.
My drunken selfless heart wishes
Thou all the best in thy new start!
Worry not for the ‘meant to be ashes,’
Forget the kiss last and that falling apart,–
Now, thou lick sensuously for a cause,
And me left apart
Like the whisper of an unrequited prayer;
A dry wish that makest not any noise,
Thy voluptuous smacks sound liar;–
Lying to hide someone thou loved,
Who from destiny’s path never moved.
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