The Unattainable asylum

Brainless beauty is a peril.
Brain without beauty is still a thrill.
To me, however, you are a thrill.
My intellect, you titillate.
My heart, you mutilate.
I stick to the job and this venue
Only to see you and be near you.
When the job and the venue go
Where will I go sans you?
How shall I live sans you?
In two years comes my civil death.
Along with it, goes my sensual death.
It is in your hand to put it off
By answering my calls
And sending your smiles.
Can you promise, my dear?
30.03.2000, Palakkad

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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