The ' Sita' of your heart

The sweet nothings she whispered,

The countless words of praise

The virtue with which she delivered

The words still make you ache.

The long shadows cast by her

Only 'Goliathed' by her presence

The fragrance of your broken heart

You still remember the agony with reverence

Oh the deity of purity, of virtue and femininity!

She is still the muse to your 'Bard'

She is the victor, the conqueror, your destroyer

But she is the "Sita" of your heart.

I stand alone by my bedside

After another sleepless night

The bed sheets, rumpled, dirty and torn

Do not tell the tale right

Every part of my being

Aches every time you walk out of the door

You desire to possess me

That makes me your 'whore'.

Every part of my soul

Is yours to claim and ruin

I do not crave your love anymore

I am just content being your 'Mary Magdalene'