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
Copyright © Sila Muthoka | Year Posted 2016
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