Hughes, you do not look like what you are in your poetry
A man so cruel, so callous
In your behaviour
That you could not take care of
A neurotic girl,
A loving and confessional girl
That you made her take life.
Hughes, are you really a hawk,
Which describe you in your poetry,
And your heart a falconer’s heart,
So cruel and callous?
To maltreat a nervous girl like that of Plath
Had been the cruelty of yours
Which none convicted you guilty of,
Hughes, were you so brutal and bloody and violent in your behaviour?
To love and betray a neurotic girl,
A nervous heart like that of Sylvia
Was to betray all that is good in life
And as a poet you just went on a killing spree.
Had love been not in your heart,
Had you been so callous and cruel,
Bloody, brutal and bestial
That punished you Plath in such a way
A loner, a lonely girl so much in love with you
That you made her committed suicide,
That committed she suicide to end herself
And ended she too.
Hughes, are you the same Browning of The Last Duchess
With a heavy heart
Wherein the protagonist killed his countess
As for her cheaper and easy smiles
And henceforth, showing the photo of the dead soul
To the visitor-guest for a new relationship to begin?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.