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Anatomy of Poetry By An Imbecile
Do I refer to a note?
How do I know what to say?
And then, do they expect me to quote
From some obscure latin text
Which no one would understand anyway?
I should have been a giant chainsaw
Cutting through the trunk of a thousand trees.
How do you interpret the fall of an empire?
The end of an age? Or the beginning of one?
How do you prove there’s a third side to things
Flitting between rhyme and reason
On filigree wings?
Do they think single mothers never dote?
Do they think blind politicians do not vote?
What should I say? What goes unsaid?
At the next auction I’ll put down a price for my head.
Abstract abstract poetry
And blank blank verse
An angel’s blessing
A gypsy’s curse.
Rhymes and ramblings go hand in hand
While non-existent footprints get erased from the sand
The night is always creepy, the day sublime.
In the patio old ladies chime
Talking of doctors and smelling of lime.
Hearts ache, drowsy numbnesses pain
And promises fly over miles to be kept.
Out flow webs and float far and wide
And woods just wait to be swept.
Will they criticize it? Will they ostracize it?
Will it be written up or written down?
I’m fortunate: there’s a year - long waiting list
For the only mental hospital in town.
Copyright ©
Priyanka Kumar
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