By P Syamala
Why did you give me a look of scorn,
Tearing the tender soul of the forlorn?
Laughing whispers that flew with the flocks
Forced me to hide my face under locks.
Did I commit the sin as in Scarlet?
When I've not even lived as a harlot?
You gifted agony in response to my love,
To unfasten the gentle wings of the pure dove.
I was lost in the midst of mist,
Longing to hold your wild, fierce wrist
Not to lose myself in the cold crowd,
But you left me under the white shroud.
Your ugly rumours cast an evil spell
Though I'm dead, I’m not ushered into hell.
I've lived in vain without a scar,
And fostering your happiness made me a broken sitar.
To soothe was my aim, and yours was to seethe
Neither were you a shyster, nor was I beneath.
Both tangled in the earthly, abandoned strand,
Only eternal agony’s etiquette winked to withstand.
Now you're welcomed by open hands of rejoice,
So, may you live without any ominous noise.
I wasn't yours, nor were you mine
Out of blissful separation, I lay in dead shrine.