Poem: The Fifth and Final Arrow

I am hurt,
These wounds even Cupid cannot heal,
Why have you done this to my heart?

Those bows and those arrows,
Which you carry so confidently and valiantly,
The sight of bees,
Singing of parrots,
And the
Scent of flowers,
What fragrant flowers they must be,
Inflaming my every thought.

Why was I not born the
Parrot that is your vehicle?
A flower out of the five that decorate each arrow?
Or the bees that make up the string to your sugarcane bow?

Do you not see what you have done?
Freshly wounded,
And this is only the first arrow,
What am I to do?

Oh Cupid, Oh Kamadeva,
Each arrow I hear,
Is enveloped with an emotion,
Happiness, fear, anger, delirium, and peace.

I cannot describe the misery and ecstasy,
The pain and pining are so great,
I seek refuge in your heart,
And in your smile,

I shall stay here,
In hapless and hopeless
Love,
Withering away,
And awaiting
The fifth and final arrow.

This poem is part of the Orinam V-Day 2013 series called The Original L Word