Copyright © SHRAVANI MUKHERJEE
The archer with his bowstring stretched
Golden arrows with a heart in red
The son of Venus marks his aim
Young at heart are lovesick again
Fragrance amorous in the air
No love story told without his name
Heres the one when he was caught in his own game:
A folklore ride of Cupid and Psyche’s tale
In a time long ago at a heavenly Greek locale
The Larks were singing their spring sonnet
Lavenders in full bloom with swarms of hornets
Springs a busy season, these were busy days
So the white winged bowman lay down to laze
The warm day light pierced the canopy green
Paving its way for serene Selene
On a hunt to act a devious plan by Venus
In search of a dame mortal who’d made her jealous
He was to strike the fair thence in her sleep
To awaken and fall in love with a wild boar or sheep
Once in her lair, ready with his bow
Eros was now to shoot his love arrow
But… Behold! There asleep her beauteous self
Psyche was radiating her ethereal grace, her only defense
This was the moment celestially charmed
When he lost his grip of the weapon from his arms
The love-spear fell right on his toe
Cupid was struck by his own arrow
A thousand lyres began in chorus to play
The melody of love celebrating this auspicious day
The rest of the myth is a long fairy tale
With inevitable kiss and happily after story to tell
Their epic adventure in a brief note
Psyche and Cupid wed and are immortals of heavenly abode
