THIRD PERSON I

Who, you in the black hole of Calcutta
Wow! My buddy, old pal, I cropped up
Hardly ever cuddled me, a stranded heart
I fable not. One led him down the garden path.
Lying in his forty-winks, throbbing head ever
Simmering blood, not high enough just for fever.

Rat-a-tat-tat! A gal in a Mack
He smiled her smile and I smiled back
Beats me how they could cross their fingers
Had a sight of everything in the garden-rosy, but.
Both all in all themselves, either flour or dust
How could such an affair ever go abreast
One backward, albeit – in the limelight next
White-collar the first, top the riches rest.

When he once was His Majesty’s guest
Paid she a king’s ransom for his quest
What a pontoon bridge-ripped them apart
Who burnt the bridge and wished to back afresh.
His shallow sleep ends, if there be some
All see-through glad-rags, would seep not love.
Anneals himself day by day on his whole part
Allows her still a small corner of his heart.
A by-word pen-man, rues the days with Judas
At times, she pays some flying visits to play him false.

Don’t leak your toothy smile at me ’gain and ’gain
Coz paramour depreciate I do even more
A seeming lovelorn, lackadaisical
All your seemly pretence but implausible
Ultimate ordeal, lovebirds bid each adieu
Walk on air, the green light got, in your own milieu.
Unhanding a small fry, be stunner more
Go off with an Adonis under his very nose.

If your wit be wondering, pester him not
Neither you can warm the cockles of his heart
Just making his toe curl won’t help you, hey!
Handed his mementos, think your natal day
Nor can you make a clean breast of it,
A real tomboy goes astray stealing a kiss.


O for a soft touch of your hand, Not.
Just for the milk of human kindness, But.
Figure out! An interesting condition she is in
Fie! Cuckold, the door creaked, the last heard he.
Wishing best of everything to his bird
Slept he the sleep that breakings knows not.
Bombshell! A pariah fiancée stoned her choice,
Would that he was alive, someone’s voice.

- Rebat Kumar Dhakal