Battle of Wits

Of tango I wrote, and how dreadfully a brief one! Terponei the queen whose loathing was as mine; Of ignorant readers who eulogize nonsensical poetry And a good-morning-life destitute of usual tranquility. “Brains at work” and “wits at war” is poetic enough; Must the Pacific parch or the scorching Sahara laugh aloof? How many conceptions ere poetic genuise is acclaimed? Good poetry lurches ubiquitously on the brains’ soft bud. It’s a battle – scramble and partition for the virgin mind; It’s class – to decipher Shak’speare in a modern band; It’s a scramble – shameful to propose poetry and write prose; It’s partition – friends, religion, work and poetry bid a piece. Poetry still fizzes out of evident cracks on the social edifice! Laymen still issue humour overwhelmed under teary duress; I see semantic bemusements when poets exchange prose; And a worse concoction when lays imagine poetry at ease. It’s a strait arena, fantasy to the elite and familiar with the simple; As with a whistling exhibition, co-action for beauty is useful; Good poetry is like a dance style – the audience decides its worth A good poet is worse – by him conservatives abandon their faith. By Muthoka SILA – the_making_of_a_good_poet