Oh sweetest one,
Thy fair countenance
By its pristine grace.
I hear not thy voice,
Yet an unheard song
Echoes in resonance
With my thoughts.
Oh vivacious beauty,
Thy words charge in a brigade
From a dying ember-like nostalgia…
Wanting, awaiting a new form
To unleash my fury
Onto thy bosom.
Oh be still, my love,
As I plunge deep into the depths
Of the origin of our fairy-tale together.
Oh how tortuous
The task is,
Which lies before me
Teasing me all the way as I acquaint
Myself with the angels and the devils,
The priests and the prophets,
The kings and the queens,
The ministry and the mass,
All with the same undying fervour
Of a burning desire
Which is consuming us
In this never-ending saga
Of love and fidelity.
Oh the enigma
Remains in thy hermit-like meanderings
When you wander to the ether
Beyond my mortal sight,
My corporeal insight.
At some crossroads, our consciences meet
And my words metamorphose into a
Embellishing thy existence.
Oh the brutality
Of thy wavering veiled figure
Hurts my conscience deeply
As I caress thee
Every night and day.
But thy blank detached expression
So many feelings creep in,
Distracting my sage-like devotion to you.
But I wish only to experience thy love,
Let me show the world – my bride
And thy value, one day
Will be judged by one and all.
Oh proud one,
Why is there still the air of arrogance
On thy countenance?
This piercing expression of thy mistrust
Is threatening the sensibilities of my heart.
What is thy fear and the cause of thy wariness?
I brood over and over.
Pardon me, my sweetheart, for these bitter words
Lest my foul and filthy language
Have hurt thy heart and mind or thy innocent eyes.
Oh beloved one,
Thy knight beckons thee
Be no more, the damsel in distress
And reveal thy dusky contours
In bold ink, cascading like a fresh kiss
Of the evening dew.
Oh heavens, behold her… my true love!
Sinking am I, in her presence, sinking…
Oh no, my cherished one,
What has befallen thee?
Thy pristine fair countenance
Is paling into a bluish death-like shade
As this mortifying liquid,
Gushes torrentially, mercilessly,
Slithering its way through the end…
The end of this maiden…
… page of my ‘beloved’ manuscript!
Oh well, so what has to happen,
Has happened, I mused
Like an unperturbed practitioner of practicalities,
As I wash my hands, purging myself
Of this unsolicited act.
My editor’s deadline hangs before me
Like the sword of Damocles.
Oh I am not the person who will moan the loss
Of the previous one.
As I pulled out
Yet another blank 8 ½” x 11″ sheet,
I am amazed at the intimidation
That this one is also showing,
No worries, this time!
My beloved, now you are in the hands
Of the master of the ‘art’.
I will coerce thee, and I will woo thee
And you will fall for those words,
Oh am I not great,
I found myself saying, with a sheepish grin.
Thus the story goes on and on…
As one by one, shall take her place.
So before I leave, my gentle reader,
Let me say these words as the thought for the day-
“All’s well that ends well!”