My Princess

Me, in my morning rush hour
cook scrub and clean
a nightingale amidst a concrete jungle
screams and orders me to stop
to listen to her melody
‘stop your chores, spare me your ear
I thought you missed me’
my ties with the nightingale
began when I lost mine
its melancholic tune chided me, irritated me
for I wished to enjoy nothing
as I lay grieving for my princess
days passed, years passed
I started seeing my princess in the nightingale
whenever I heard its melody
I felt my princess was visiting me
as I changed houses
I thought I lost my visitor
the sharp sound of the nightingale
seemed to be angry with me
it seemed to complain
‘you have forgotten me!’
no hardly ever
my wound of losing my princess is as raw as it was
and your tune as melancholic as always

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