I am the Desdemona of the Day

I am the Desdemona of the Day
Of Iago there is no essence
For His ego is there
And that never lessens.

SCRAPS

These thoughts--
They lie in every corner of my mind.
They take cue from every sight that I come across.
They taunt. They haunt.
When ignored and belittled,
They transform themselves into bewitching tales!
Believe me! These scraps!
They irritate me so much!
Finally, I relieve myself from their clasp using my pen,
Or brush them aside using my painting brush.

SIGNATURE

SIGNATURE

where have you gone my dear dear one?

Amidst these torn old pages,

I searched for your signature.

Oh! This red red rose !

Was this not the one that tied mysteriously,

Those two strangers; you and Myself?

Ah! Look at this strange day,

when we stand estranged.

Still this red red rose has its faint fragrance.

So shall it remain, hiding itself,

Amidst these old torn pages.

And I'm sure your old books too shall bear a signature of mine.