SONNET 414
By JH Sayyar
Heart weeps, tears float in the eyes,
Man talks to self to listens its cry!
Man: s stone in the glass soul flies,
Men: smoke go to the whore’s pie,
When a whore surveys heart in lone,
Her beauty rays cleave heart in loss,
Her caressing hands touching moan,
At last man looks a gin in the glass,
Love performs the same job on earth,
Both sharpen wit like a beak of crow
Love: a self deceit, since man’s birth,
Love: a canker of soul my words trow
You and your false love a pretty pert
Your eyes deceive; your coquettes hurt
0 Comments