Arrogance is her mate,
they say
Snobbishness, her sister.
Her mood swings are lunatic
and her witch- like arsenal brain
leaves none uninjured
they say.
A kin of Satan she is;
Her face, the primary seducer
Her voice, the other one
Her smile, yet another
they say.
Her trap isn’t an artefact,
she knits it with her look
and extracting energies
is her artifice
they say.
They say what they hear
But say not
what they see:
Those impotent eyes
abandoned by innocence
devoid of love
and now, even tears.
Her blink had clicked his snap
that was to be with her
till the final sealing.
The image is stolen now
Cataract seems to have hit her.
Longing tried to make it
its residence once
but they say
such guests are ephemeral
and before they go
they kill the optimism bug.
All that her eyes are known for now
are layers of kajal
and coloured contact lenses
that conceal the cataract
and infertility.