Can you bring the virility to my heart again
I lay in dormant winter waiting patiently
For someone who chides my heart
With the fleeting splendor of the beauty of her youth
I ought to place you on the proverbial pyre like the pagan kings of old
As sacrifice for the sins of the world
As sins for myself
For having loved too well on only one occasion
What do you know of loving well
Filly of the field
Who do you beckon on a Indian June
Who besides me scribes your name on the mortar of history
Who bids you now come and wait
Who is he who makes the sound of one hand clapping
Spirit of sprites spirits of spring spirit of spirits
One spirit one baptism one youth
How long will you waist it?
YOU ARE READING
The Penultimate Pleasures
PoetryA collection of poems meant to embody the ongoing struggle of souls seeking shelter in modernity. (Let me know what you think:)
