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You Alleged

You alleged, my poems aren't
my wings' pure off-springs.
My imagination is numb,
my thought dull thing brings.
I can't play in bleeding
soul, I then torn my sampler.
as your piercing words arrowed.
But, I'm not a deceiver.
You Othello! Don't press
this Desdimona's throat,
listening to Iago's words.
Try to read what she wrote,
on the handkerchief of life.
She loved you as a poet
loves the objects of nature,
she can't you ever hate.

poem by Nilakshi Das
Added by Poetry Lover
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