SONNET 121
By JH Sayyar
Do not follow love leads to fall,
Woman’s love; full of real woe,
Reminds of pretty teenage brawl,
She gets nothing in love but rue.
Till death my ghost follows you,
You will have never peace in life,
You will miss sweet bill and coo,
Ah! Your life will be full of strife.
I take back beauty; thrice I curse,
My words full of magical affects,
I hate you and love in my verse,
Your trend a guilty mind reflects.
You nothing verses make you great,
A whore’s love none can subjugate.
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