Me and my poems

My poems are like my life – I do not know
Why one line ends, where it does,
Or why they sometimes rhyme
And sometimes don’t,
Or what will happen in the next, or why.
Like me, my poems also do not know
Who reads them, or likes them, or
Even if anyone does. They just wait
Wide eyed, for the next turn,
For the next miracle, for the next marvel.
Sometimes happy, sometimes sad
My poems are about the memories
Of those moments of love and beauty
That are too fickle to last –
These poems are as fragile as my heart.
Like stars that descend on the deserted lakes
These poems of mine are the gifts
That I get, for no rhyme or reason.
They are like love that is
Innocent, unconditional, guileless, unqualified.
Like me, my poems too are shy –
Obliquely, they hint at love.
They can get sullen and quiet
When angry. They also like
To talk to the birds, to walk in the woods.
Like me, my poems are moody –
You cannot rely on them too much.
Though they promise much, they do not
Have the wisdom of the sages-
Enjoy their faint music while it lasts.
My poems can sometimes be bitter –
Selfish, boastful, egoistical, obstinate.
Though they can jar and hurt, they do not
Want to wound or maim-
And they always say sorry afterwards.

About Abhishek

I will let the blog speak for itself...or, at times, for me. View all posts by Abhishek

4 responses to “Me and my poems

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