of incapabilities, and poetry

I wonder

what it’s like

to write poetry

to make a veritable feast

of spontaneity

to paint the canvas

with an imperishable portrait

 

I wonder how

they adorn their tales

with lettered amulets

an engulfing dalliance

that triumphantly seeps

into blank spaces

only to set them ablaze

 

What do you see, love

in the ubiquitous mirror –

Your bedtime stories gasping for air

strangled by your dusk, or

gaudy verses clouding your silhouette

dancing to mad melody

drenched in their own lust?

image source

[Originally published in Life in 10 Minutes and republished in Quail Bell Magazine, forthcoming in CultureCult Magazine]

[Poetry had never really fascinated me, until recently. This is my first poem, if you don’t count the few unfinished attempts in the near past. The day I wrote this poem, I had a wonderful subject on which my poetry would be based. Unfortunately, I could think of no word, no phrase, nothing. My head was this dried up stream where no lines would flow. And then, I ended up composing a poem on the inability to write poetry.]