For muses, who believe I misrepresent them

They say, in my verse
I misrepresent the fairer sex
Either I engineer phrases
latent with flattery or
concoct elegant excuses
for glorifying their physical attributes.

They say, in my verse
I misrepresent the fairer sex
My characters are just caricatures
and my devices laden with satire
my compliments usually underline
just what is imperfect and concealed.

They say, in my poems
I unleash a subtle attack
On their ambivalent dispositions
My emphasis is misplaced for
females live in the gray scale
and I insist on black and white.

They say in my poems
I unleash a subtle attack
on attention they relish, though
must underplay, as modesty demands
my words are like guilt trips
bittersweet, tangy soulstirrers.

They say, I must write
verses that emphasize qualities
revel in ideas, extol their intellect
talk about their exploits, their
ability to mobilize humanity into
rigor and vigor of survival.

They say I must write
verses that emphasize qualities
not of flesh, but of mind
They insist, guilt trips must go
as must my personal vendetta
to remind them of their limitations.

I smile at these responses
The allegations of the fairer sex
'Truth is beauty, beauty truth
In women, never twain shall meet,
Vivek, you seem to underplay it'
Say guys, demanding me to be less indiscrete.

I smile at these responses
The allegations of the fairer sex
Praise is flattery and the rest
seems to become misrepresentation
O enigmatic existances, you may dismiss my
poems as artefacts of my flawed imagination.

I insist, my poems mean
Whatever they comprehend in them
for I present just snapshots
of events or emotions as it is
this is not propaganda, but facts
just scribed in detached, absent mindedness.

I insist, my poems mean
Whatever they comprehend in them
When my experiences touch
the hands of their thoughts
I know be it pleasure or scorn
Their first instinct is to cringe.

I allow, the music of sentences
to show me the lyric
My verses are just montages
of my and their fractured reality
As a novelist, I cannot dictate
Who enacts the roles in their adaptations.

I allow, the music of sentences
to show me the lyric
Drafted here in uniforms are trite
observations mine and their own
O dears, if you cease to judge harshly, in my
verses, you will see my eulogies, my love, strewn.

April 04, 2006
10:00 pm

PS: “Trust a woman?” was a perfect cause for an all out attack on me by some friends I visited recently, and this poem is a homage to what they said (and my response that I was able to articulate only after returning home and sat down to pen this piece:)!