Envy's Ashen Crown

By Moira Bhargav

All poets write about her,

She’s beautiful indeed,

They write about her dreamy eyes,

And compare it with the moon, ocean and

sunrise.

I know that these poems were not meant to be

written on me,

But envy seems to be enlightening within me.

I am always the poet, never the poem,

Not a song to be written beautifully and

composed.

I am like a perfect picture, with a broken frame,

And my jealousy says she’s the one to blame.

Because me tears of envy and hatred seem to

turn into the jewels in her crown,

breaking me apart and making me drown.

My jealousy seems to burn for you, higher and

higher,

But how could I truly hate you when -

Everyone considers you as an angel,

A saint, the purest of all,

While I am nothing but your pawn.

By Moira Bhargav