With pursed lips she thought of words with rhyme
The ticking time, hot tea, a short fun time.
Thus Rachel wrote a poem to search a mate,
Then replies start, some shy, some asked to date.
Raj chanced upon her gauntlet poetry
One sunny morn and wrote back something cheesy.
The tocking clock, earl grey, the bright of day
Brows focused on finger keyboard ballet.
“You're pretty witty”, his first failed attempt,
“Be my Munroe hoe?”; second so contempt.
Feeble empty, would surely seal his doom
Honest reflect, might lead his words to bloom:-
My mind identifies lies as clear as day
My mind though open battles not to judge others
My mind sees positive amidst oceans of other's despair
My mind seems complicated with it's simplicity of thought
I like to wiggle around and masquerade it as dance
I think about pulling monkey faces at naughty pensioners
I bought a maiden hair fern plant and now worry if it is happy with me
I once told a distraught 13 year old that I too wet the bed at his age, when I didn't
My passion is the morning calm before the bustling day
My passion is for art though I know it helps just a few
My passion is planting seeds and waiting for miracles
My passion is syntax, with rhythm and depth
And those were the words which Raj wrote to share
With feathers crossed on a wing and a prayer
The rhyme escaped and the iambic lost
Was it a worthy risk or would it cost?
Copyright © Seeyam Brjmohun