Theme: Love

Nine To My Beatrice

Love is not sensual.

It is a great sensuous flux

That flows through the ethereal frame.

You think you are strong, infallible

And live in the myth of strength of your will.

Take me,

It just takes two eyes to dress you down,

Dent your confidence

And a husky ripple dancing over the lips

To inundate you.

You never expect it but it happens in a wink.

Like gentle breeze it passes over you. That's all!

You reel under its narcotic spell;

Get benumbed as far as other interests are concerned.

But your wits get a shot in the arm.

Every inch of your frame pulsates

And a strange urge to communicate seizes you.

Sometimes you lose your sense of propriety.

That Tsetse bites young and old alike.

And when it engulfs

Nothing is beyond its sweep.


More By  :  N. S. Murty

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