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Poem

When I look at you, captive of my heart,
I ask myself, what do I feel? What do I see?
What loveliness is this before me?
I try to express it, to trap it in words, but time and again 
I end up speechless…
A gaping fish, devoid of adjectives to describe your unerring beauty
Inadequate, what a pathetic poet I am
Unable to find words for your flawed perfection
You must be mocking me with those wise brown eyes of yours
But I – the wordless poet - challenge you…
Gaze for but moments upon the face of your love,
Drink in every radiant inch of their face, so familiar, so elusive,
And then you pick up your pen…
Flex your talented fingers through which the muse flows…
And you try to describe them, sum them up if you will,
Capture them with a handful of metaphors
A smattering of exquisite adjectives
And then step back and see if your poem can even come close to reality
Has it?
No I did not think so…
Rare is the poet who is distant enough – impassive enough
Objectively spaced apart,
To capture the true beauty of their loved one on paper,
To trap the essence of the divine and nail it to that thin bone-white sheet
I have failed to do so,
I lapse into uselessness every time I catch my loved one’s eye,
And there unearth the elusive meaning of life…
Then, foiled again, the words peter out,
They do not even make it to the tips of my hapless fingers
But stutter and stammer and melt away into oblivion…
Yet I for one don’t care, for I don’t need those words,
Instead I have my love’s beauty in my very hands
Warm and smooth and breathing – an ecstasy of living flesh
And the words, they are not called for yet...

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