Somdatta Mitra
Country : India
HE JESTS AT SCARS THAT NEVER FELT A WOUND
In an apathy his cynosure reminds of a repugnance,
Mocking at our courtship with judgements.
It seemed his wit injured my heart ,
As he administered and embossed several scars.
Expressive of an abject despair ,
My love was under the encumbrance of his dare.
He jests at scars that never felt a wound ,
His life was like a dark cave devoid of any light that soothes.
Noone perhaps catapulted to urge for a union ,
No-one ever turned to him with any proposal.
Fragrance of a rose never attracted his soul ,
Deep into an insufficiency he turned into a hard coal.
Dreams have scattered his emotions ,
Sensations were chained by several disasters.
He never experienced the moments of love ,
How can he comprehend the pain and suffering to behove ?
Life was perhaps a despot to preserve an egoism ,
His envy generated several idiosyncracies.
Like a bulldozer his wit was concocted of a void ,
Lessons of compassion would change his perspectives in life.
He who has never unleashed his feelings ,
For a congeneric reservation of attractions and greetings .
Cannot perceive the pain and misery ,
Cannot cradle love and it’s quivery.
