He

By Doel Sengupta

His smile is wicked and bewtiching

His laugh is jeering and sneering

Raucous, sometimes warm sometimes cold

And on his own thoughts he has little hold.

His vision is clear and pristine,

His heart a wild forest of blooms

Of fragrances so tempered and enlivening,

His criticisms are dry and doomed.

He lives in a world much larger than himself

And when he falls he kneels and portends;

He is buttery smooth in his affections

And wandering in his imaginations.

His hair is silken and sweaty

His words don't need more brevity;

His eyes are kind and mischeivous

And his dreams are long golden and glorious.

Weaknesses he has many,

Strengths are also not few,

He despises greenery 

For that I loathe him

And his must is often perfumed.

I wish I'd known better than to fall for him,

I wish I'd known better than to recite and despise

Meself and me meanderings so nice

I wish I'd known how to add less spice.

His tales have me enthralled,

His voice is hard and harsh

As are his encouragements

Be caught dead off the lark.

I think I'll note him down in memory

As someone I truly understood;

For now I'm done with longing 

And I think for that I'm good.