Background: You might have heard that a woman or love drives a person to poetry. In my case, I discovered my love for poetry before I found her, or love, or any woman for that matter. While all my friends tell me, that my mastery of language and my poetic skills can win the heart of anyone I pursue, I find myself cursing my ability to compose verses. Life is seriously turning out to be tangent to the curve of my expectations. Meanwhile you have fun savoring this poet's lament!
She smiles and shrugs off
my compliments and praise.
She argues she believes not
whatever a poet says.
She says, 'Your words please
for you've mastered your craft;
You can dazzle them all
but won't aflutter my heart.'
She colors red with my paeans
yet whispers, 'its about okay;
Rather sentimental for my taste (winks)
use it on another, another day.'
I presist, I insist, I swear. I sweat.
Amused she advises, "Don't be so rattled."
I could redraft words if she was unsatisfied
but her lingering doubts cannot be battled.
When I pronounce her a beauty
She quips, 'You're out of your mind.'
My most sincere comments forever
her most resolute dismissals find.
She has her doubts. But I know.
She's tacit, secretive. But I show.
I'll make her believe one day, I will
She cannot make me give in. I vow.
I say, 'You're like a mountain stream.'
She contends,' Oh! I make so much noise?'
I urge, 'Its a similie, means you're as fluid, as exciting'
She concludes, 'Ouch! I'm just water, sans taste, sans poise.'
I remark, 'Even your toes deserve a poem.'
She retorts, 'Stop, I know where its going.'
I avow, 'I meant it just as a metaphor.'
She announces, 'This flattery, is your undoing.'
I sit quiet. She probes, 'Are you on a diet?'
I make faces. She smiles and says graces.
In simplest words, I restate what I think about her
She chuckles, 'Now I am even a bigger doubter.'
What use are my words, if none are for taking
Why must I scribe verses, if its considered faking
Give me my lord, a stammer and a lack of vocabulary
Or words that to my precious, bear my meaning.
Its not my fault, if she merits my admiration
I stand by all I say, I'm ready for examination
I choose my words exactly for what they mean
Accuse me of inadequacy, but not of exaggeration!
Vivek Sharma
Jan 19, 2006
00:30 am
5 comments:
I say, 'You're like a mountain stream.'
She contends,' Oh! I make so much noise?'
I urge, 'Its a similie, means you're as fluid, as exciting'
She concludes, 'Ouch! I'm just water, sans taste, sans poise.'
I remark, 'Even your toes deserve a poem.'
She retorts, 'Stop, I know where its going.'
rotfl!! sounds like a woman alright!! more rotfls....
Awww poor poor vivs...I should not be laughing so hard at my dear buddy's poetic miss-fortunes!! I know I know....
man it feels good to be back!!
"miss-fortunes" is right...at so many levels :)
Hey, if you think this is bad, try giving up the flattery and the poetry...hell hath no fury like a woman-used-to-poetry scorned!
Dude - this girl that you lament for - not worth it:-) Try the flattery on someone else - you will surely get somewhere!
she would love to believe every word, I'm sure
but how can she admit it?
She wants you to reiterate it in spite of her denials...
she wants the reassurance
and then she'll go thru every word
over and over again
in solitude...
and smile...
Besides she knows there will be men
who speak hollow words
she wants to confirm
You're not one of them...
thanks ppl:) Ardra your comment was brilliant (I mean comforting) though Amit will disagree, and so will chay and rtd2.
Poems, like this one, are fun to compose. As for the perpetual doubters, their doubts and dismissals are perhaps only as serious as was my lament! Else their loss:)!
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