Out-of-tune

Making a mound of clothes and bags

With books I ought to read ,

I turned my back to it

And surrendered, yet again,

To the pleasures I can't deny.

I close my ears,

No, I don't want to hear

My nagging voice-small but

Pinching to the core.

I know what I am doing

No, I don't want to know

With my nose deep into

The yellowed pages

In an attempt to sip

A gulp of the mastery

Ah! the tantalising taste.

My left hand blinkers my vision

I don't want to see the mirror

It mocks me, imitating my actions

With back turned

To the mound of clothes and bags

With books I ought to read.

A finger on the right

Steadily following the dancers

Moving to the tunes of distant lands

Dancers in black,

Charming me to the distant lands.

My little voice sings along

Out of tune, about mounds of clothes

And bags with books.

Don't stop dancing as yet dears

Let me have another sip.

The manna tastes different now

It has turned rancid now.

My back to my love

My mistress unhappy,

A sacrilege to them

Or myself- I might never know

I might never want to know.