A Poem for a Poem

Out of the pages of a read
but long forgotten book,
she rhymed into my prosaic life.

A metaphor she dropped
in every sentence of life.
Now every verb could dream
and every noun could be an
unknown desire.
Into the ordinary of the prosaic day
she brought the beauty of the starry skies.

A poem she was,
though not of complete delight.
Reading between her lines
I could find a grief,
tucked around the corner
or a cry stifled by the edge of a smile.

Around what core of indestructible pain
is her being wrapped ?
Around what shards of unknown miseries
is her dream woven?
What untold stories have trickled
down those cheeks?
What unfathomable starlight
have they carried into oblivion ?

Comments

Bindu Rekha Babu said…
Goes on to say, u should not neglect ur writing...
May 22, 2012 at 12:20 AM
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