Monday, April 29, 2013


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Love, don’t be proud, idiots have titled though
Buddha and Cleopatra, but, honestly you don’t deserve,
For those, whom you think, you’ve stolen their reserve,
They didn’t have a great fall, nor can you be my foe.
From ‘fall’ and ‘break’, are in your monopoly sack,
Much awful it’ll be, with me when you really flirt,
And soonest you hound our knights with softest heart,
Rest of their faith and experience you can never win back.
Your art is slave of fate, chance, hunters, and desperate lame,
And you’re enslaved by time, place and naked cupid’s mail,
And mossy floor, or banana peel can promise us a fall as well,
And better than them you’re, in which way do you claim;
One short heart-break will make the heart elastic forever,
And love shall be no more; love will be bound to self love.

[With my sincere apology to John Donne]

- Anunoy Samanta

(Written for NaPoWriMo 2013 - 30 Poems in 30 Days challenge!)

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