Shakespearean Cuts

By Bhargab Das

I counted my tears to moist your sands coloured pale,

But you quenched your thirst,

From blood that dropped from my heart very frail,

Foolish me then apologized for blood that stained your veil.

It is extraordinary when the flower of death pleases your eyes,

U wish to embrace it,

But are held by the shackles of responsibilities even after the orange skies.

Just because you're clean dosent mean you're not stained or scarred,

The confusing emptiness only hits u after the completion of your piece of art.

What do you plan for future? 

To live till Noel?

Or to die before a petunia's smell?

Did u hear that the flowers are blooming in antartica?

Will the end scare u?

Or will u still be laughing with your new companions listening to a melodica?

But my voice will describe u even in bel canto,

To save me from myself, 

I'll be my own Alejandro.

But I'll try to quench from rivers new, 

Ignoring the past contamination,

I'll follow the afternoon sun adored by few. 

But if anyone talks to me and makes me trust them,

I'll swear to myself that it's yet another illusion, 

To not fall in it's trap like an insect in a web. 

I must not anymore live in a new friendship's delusion.

And with each drop of blood osmosed by my quill,

That Stains my papers vermillion;

May my bloodstained verses,

Recite the symphonies of my mausoleum.

Mesmerized by the rose I couldn't feel it's thorn,

But now when it has died and I in my head hear the mourn.

I finally notice the scars left by it,

It had no care for me, it only did scorn.

Instead of jumping off I fell behind,

Myself I never had will shall find.

Golden were the dandelions when we met,

Now they fly in Grey, like the ashes; 

That lay where blood rich veins meet bloodless remains.

But alas my decisions haunt me that I can't forget,

Kill me, stab me, punch me, but never hug me before u do so!

For my Shakespearean cuts still decorate for an unforgettable foe.

By Bhargab Das