Theme: Love

Nine to My Beatrice-IV

Like a snake charmer
You peck, poke and swing that plait of yours
Over the shoulder.
That devil slips down slickly
From there over the fronts in front.
It has the same silken shine
And reptilian grace of a Cobra.
Your face at one end resembles its drawn-out hood.
Does one need a bite?
Even without its sting
One is bitten by its beauty.
As if that is not enough
You put on gold-rimmed spectacles
Matching your skin and attire.
All looks get filed
And magnetized to align in your field.
To me, everyone longing your attention
Looks like a sleepless night
Awaiting daybreak.
Like an arrogant merchant of a seller's market
You pare no looks at them.
You churn your surrounds
And just attend to your work.


More By  :  N. S. Murty

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