This is a blog about writing. Mostly short fiction. And occasional personal rant once in a while, if I may. Feel free to make your comments and feel sane again.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

To Whomsoever It May Concern

I enjoy reading good poetry. Robert Frost is one of all time favorite. I like the work of late Mr. Arun Kolatkar, P. Surendran (very depressive) and Jeet Thayil. I am a hopeless fan of Tishani Doshi.
I write terrbile poetry but writing them them is very useful when I feel blocked. Probably because it is a practically sensor-free form. I don't have to show off my junk to anyone else.
This one has no claim to high brow literature; it is written for an entirely different reason.

To Whomsoever It May Concern - a poem in shape of a flower pot.

Instead of your slow smile,
or a warm, self-conscious hug,
I had to face that cloudy look
in your eyes.
You didn’t cry,
But it was worse.
Tears gleamed
Despite your
feminist bravado.
You smudged your
fautia lipstick by mistake,
And ran into bedroom while
I stood in the neutral territory,
Of our modest drawing room,
Under the eyes of nosy neighbors.
I felt like a thug who had kicked
a helpless child. I had broken the
promise to fetch you for a boring
done-to-death tearjerker movie.
You probably forgave me later,
But I could not, and learnt to
sleep through the tearjerkers
So that I do not have to see
the real thing in your eyes.

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