The Charm of the Seductress

As I look at all the toys you had;
Now broken, archaic, dented or dull,
Of plastic and metal that couldn’t withstand-
Your heat, your pressure, your whims, your fun.
I somehow feel it’s silly of them,
To brood now, once you’ve held them close;
They’ve memories of play and your marks on them,
And can be joy of poorer ones if they chose.

Weren’t they just toys and that too foolish enough,
To be lured by your passion for momentary fun?
Didn’t they realize with someone less volatile,
They may be bored; but cared and for more time run!
But by what design of fate do I succumb to the light
Of your eyes as it gets intensified by my glass
For I’m not a plaything to be bent or squeezed tight,
But a work that belongs to ‘handle with care ‘ class.

I know that I am too vulnerable
For plays of this delicate sort
And if for once I slip from your careless hands,
My existence would come to a naught.
And they’ll call me foolish and frail;
And laugh at my audacity –
But they’ll also see your thousand images
In the hundred pieces I’ll be.

And maybe they’ll watch me caught in frozen air,
As I relive your warm caress
And no more will they fall victim
To the charm of the seductress.

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