For thousands of years
You perpetuated the horror of love
Not the pining.
How did you think that it's you
Who will decide what to happen.
It's your life, your beautiful body,
You decide what to do with it.
But you played omnipotent and
Took upon yourself
The task of correcting the course of life
Of yourself and all those around you.
Was it infatuation?
Or the jealousy of Euripidis?
Whatever it may be -
You wont ever be Shakuntala
The woman who sired a dynasty.
