And then ‘Beauty’ took a turn, You stood there;
Dishabille locks of yours forbid her to move.
Nay, all boast of her plunged into your eyes,
So that, it never goes anywhere.
Willed propensity of a man cries for a dip,
It’s an emulation of beauty –
To get closer to yours;
Hoary antiquity has seen this battle.
You did nothing , not a stroke of collyrium;
Not even a tinsel on forehead, vacillated tuft of hair did all.
Turgid lip osculated only the other,
It’s the righteous next to none.
History riles thy glory,
Always risible you, give a winsome smile;
You won that battle and made Beauty thy slave,
Your pennon everywhere, Beauty heaves.