Gently loud, are the foot steps of a coming end
How much I seek the absolution of mirth
In shambles of what you laud as longing
Such uncouth is this stifling tomfoolery of love
You attribute so much to this farcical show
Each time I have hid from my could be lovers
I have remained undivided, how unlike now
When I pen words now, post intermittent ponderings
All it reeks is of your prolific abusive absence
Like drops from a sliced lime, leaching my counter top
Leaving it scarred, disfigured, prominently eroded
I fret not for those that find love, stay in so
No one does, for love is just substituted dementia
So I curse Madana,his bow and curse the mango flower too
For there was no need for this subterfuge
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