[What will my friends do when all their gambits fail?]

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What will my friends do when all their gambits fail?

If I vex my wounds, will they grieve or do worse?

She hides behind the mask of coy indifference.

I whimper, how it hurts: she warns, it gets worse.

If my mentor comes calling, let him be my guest.

If he plays fast and loose, shall I scream, do worse?

I will renew my suit, sword and shroud in hand.

She has to take me out: or skip and do worse.

Will he lock me up? Let my mentor try this too.

Curbing love’s sickness can only make it worse.

She binds me forever in her silken coils.

I am love’s captive: my beefs could be worse.

Watch the daily toll of loves that fed our grief.

Should I stay in Delhi if this famine grows worse?