My Liar

My Liar

His flute every minute
Sounds louder than before
And so I think he approaches
The one that I adore.

Having finished his tête-à-tête
With the girls who yonder dwell,
He comes to me in the woods to meet
With his guilty amorous smell.

The unfaithful enters with his flute;
On his face an unabashed smile.
How impudent of the philanderer, I think,
To make me wait even a while!

As he comes closer, myself to touch
I see love bites on his chest
And the way he smells of the women he’s loved
Stirs a storm within my breast.

With pleasure, oh, they must have cried,
Those crafty thieving dames
Knowing well I love him so
They involved him in their games.

Forgive them I never will,
But first I must reproach my liar.
Question him on what he wants
And with anger douse my desire.

“How dare you come to me to love?
Go back to the biter’s lair!
I want you not in half and half,
My lover I shall not share!”

The guilty smiles wider still
His haplessness perhaps to hide
Holds me by the waist and looks
With gazelle-eyes open wide.

“Those women to me are like my flute
The wood that touches my lips
The edges and sides of which
Are caressed by me fingertips.

But you, O Beloved, are the tunes I play
The rhythm that churns me endlessly
The one I love in every woman
The breath that comes from within me.”

Like a wave my anger broke and fell
And I forgave him instantly
What else could I do but smile and hug

When my liar said that to me.