Thursday, March 10, 2005

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.

5 Comments:

At 6:15 AM, Blogger Braveheart said...

“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.”

If there is someone whom I absolutely adore as a poet, that is you Parth. Fantastic!

I know you can feel; I know you can see; and thats what matters. Specially, the way you see through a woman's eyes and heart is beautiful. Thats something which amazes me. In prose, its much easier than in poetry. I am yet to learn this.

Akshaya

 
At 3:14 AM, Blogger reclusive_catalyst said...

Hadn't read this before I did the latest one. Beautiful piece. i hope you dwell on my idea of the ballad creation !!!

 
At 12:24 AM, Blogger Kai gurl said...

"Name one who leads his own life...ever.
No one does...
One day am a daughter
Tom'ow, a sister
Then a friend,
A companion,
A wife,
A mother,
A...

Millions of roles to play and just one life??!!

But there are these roads of life...somewhere cutting through the depths of the silent woods...
On which we tread alone...
A certain kind of pain that cannot be shared...
A sad story that cannot be told...
A burden that you cannot shed...
A tear drop, which on your cheeks, dies its unnatural death..."

Parth, dunno how relevant this is, but was trying to put myself in that woman's shoes (the one in your poem)...

 
At 3:15 AM, Blogger vijay kumar said...

I find Partho with each day u r gaining a shine. Keep it up my fav naughty boy and one day u will make ur mark!

 
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