My Poetry (Imagination)

My poetry wears dress,

puts bindi

on her fore head,

with all audacity

declares herself

to be my beloved,

claims her more beautiful

than the stars,

than the moon,

than the Rose.

Yes, my poetry becomes

indignant

when I indite her

for praising

all other beauties except her.

Yes, she claims,

to have lost virginity,

because of me.

She alleges

that I have touched

her every part

with the nib of my pen,

demanding poetic justice,

wanting me to accept

her as my inamorata

for life long.