If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have
Cared about this munden world.
She was like the mystical creation —
Trapped inside a dark terrain.
The kingdom for which was the chaos;
She took the burden of all deaths.
She was tied and left. And left there
In the dark nook, she lied for the time
To fade. The rope — tightened to her
Throat, and scars bedeviled her spine.
And overlooking eyes loathed but couldn't
Comprehend the hidden world. And when
Lices scoffed her down; she yelled — and
Cried the Hell. So was Lost the Paradise.
Forgotten was she lied, as I stumbled.
Odious was she to heaven; a tragic fate.
I took her into my arms and her scent of
Musk caressed my heart; and intoxicated I
Imbibed upon her letters of wonder.
And — I traveled hither and thither.
I fought in the battle of Trojan; I asked Sisyphus to rest; I was the face of
Narcissus and made Artagnan my friend.
Or, once was I Romeo or Orpheus;
Lost in the war of love I lurched in despair.
But, awakening from reverie I sensed.
Indented scar on her pale skin — bore
The testimony of peace — long dead; And
She has crumbled upon my touch.
Vanity Lost to an impotent, sanguine lust.

© Anik Goswami
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