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Dec 2014
My great-great-great-grandfather,
The father of my grandfather's great-grandfather,
He was a teacher by creed and by deed,
Once he sat with his eyes closed in great concentration...

A beautiful lady saw him sitting graciously in Padmasana pose,
That cunning nymph she wanted his penance undone for herself,
But he was a little short-tempered and couldn't take it when she tried it,
His patience was very short when it came to being disturbed during his penance.

Disturbed, he saw the beautiful nymph trying to break his temper,
He got enraged and picked up his trident to quickly ****** it through her *****.

She had fear in her eyes,
Remorse on her face,
Pain in her contorted brows,
And despair in her dying voice,
As she uttered the curse,
"O you so-called holy man,
You would never get love,
Your generations to come would die thirsty of love,
You're killing me because you can't make love to me,
So lost in your penance,
And so possessive about it,
Let your generations suffer for your actions..."


She dropped dead there itself but her curse continues to be carried from one generation to the next.

I have been paying the price too,
Just like my father and grandfather,
No girl I knew has understood it,
No I won't just follow my forefathers,
I'll have it my way, I'll keep searching.
This poem is a work of fiction and a product of my creative imagination.
My HP Poem #710
©Atul Kaushal
Äŧül
Written by
Äŧül  29/M/Kärnāl - Häryāņā - Bhāräŧ
(29/M/Kärnāl - Häryāņā - Bhāräŧ)   
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