Fickle

Those eyes, Which spoke to me, Once, in the language of peace, Now, making the sound of the storm. Those lips, Which touched me, Once, like the petals of a rose, Now, scraping me as the teeth of wrath. Those smiles, Which mesmerized me, Once, like the love of the heart, Now, loathes me as the enemy of joy. Those feelings, Which stirred me, Once, like the rhythm of life, Now, torturing me as the vibrations of death. Oh my love! What cause you to wait for my death, still, Though I have lost my life, Before you have killed me, literally. R K Chowdary Jasthi