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by Victor Om Shanti

On the dark road to Destiny
Mugged, was I, by Love
While distracted, I stood, holding my gun
Her Cupid fletched arrow
Heart pierced me to the marrow
I accuse, and I convict her,
With no chance of pardon
By the governor,
Of stealing my heart.
For she's the One.

She's the one, the arsonist of love
Who inflames my heart and fires my passions
Hauled into the line-up
Within the fortressed chamber of my soul
From among the usual romantic suspects
I had no trouble at all
Identifying the perpetrator
When the prosecutor called.
Firmly pointed in her direction
I affirmed, "She's the One!"

Before the Court of the Queen of Hearts I pled my case
Arraigned her most fully without any haste
The body of evidence mounted, your Honor, is beyond reproach
Let the record reveal to the best of my recollection
That within her grasp, she has held the cor of my affection
Ever so tenderly in the hollow of her palm.
That whenever I am in need of rest
She's eased my spirit tenderly to the cleavage of her breast.
That each time I've sought shelter, like an injured bird on the wing
With sexual healing she'd nurse me till I'd sing
Like a song bird whose love songs have broken the calm.

The Queen pondered briefly, then gave her decree
I convict her summarily
What, then, should her sentence be?
If it pleaseth the Court, let it be what pleaseths me:
That we, together, be bound over to the institution of matrimony
That the blindness of love afflict our eyes
Restricting our gaze to eyewitness testimony
Of the passion that we share
Without distraction, without retraction
Let the heat of our attraction be as hot as the Sun.
Yesterday, today, and forever more,
Brand a sign on my forehead,
"She is the One!"


20030113