While Judging My Own Poem
Can an earthquake judge its own tears
of fury and frustration
Can a sunlight assess the black stains on a rose,
its creation
I don't know precisely but as my eyes move
up and down my poem
I myself am almost lost into a prose where
no river is flowing
I started with the metaphor of the letter
alpha
With the intention of crisscrossing
to omega
In between your hands and feet got entangled
in the bush on the hills
So much so that I now find the poem
going haywire
Why so happened, I feel it's better not to
inquire further
Even so, a few connoisseurs happened to taste
the flavor
Feebly radiating from the apples most of which
looked stale
The cracked crimson, yellow and green were growing
pale
Still the few likes made me bold enough
to keep out of
the rain and hail that had broken out
while I read
the 'also ran' poem with no distinct course leading to
the desired omega
I read it once again alert to the erratic enjambment
Rated it 'honorable mention'
No, the apples have started gathering fungus
I deleted honorable mention
Dated 25 March 2019
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