he stumbles across
the streets
And murmurs the
deepest agony .
I can feel it.
Isn't he the poet we knew,
We admired?
Is he a past now...
forgotten between the pages
And the words of the caricatures ...
So I went up to him.
And offered him a helping hand.
If ,at all,he holds on to them
and the words bloom
Like the yester days.
But it was not to be.
he crawled up his way,
Himself.
And seeing my eager face
Realized my greed
And he agreed.
On a torn paper
With a pen that didn't seem
To be mightier than a sword
at all.
He wrote
----
"Your life has a deeper poetry
Than my pen can ever offer."
And i stood amazed.
His seemingly impotence
was the highest enlightened bit
Called Life.
the streets
And murmurs the
deepest agony .
I can feel it.
Isn't he the poet we knew,
We admired?
Is he a past now...
forgotten between the pages
And the words of the caricatures ...
So I went up to him.
And offered him a helping hand.
If ,at all,he holds on to them
and the words bloom
Like the yester days.
But it was not to be.
he crawled up his way,
Himself.
And seeing my eager face
Realized my greed
And he agreed.
On a torn paper
With a pen that didn't seem
To be mightier than a sword
at all.
He wrote
----
"Your life has a deeper poetry
Than my pen can ever offer."
And i stood amazed.
His seemingly impotence
was the highest enlightened bit
Called Life.
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Comments
Your simple verses talk of mystical lands, ordinary mortals dont see, even when the lands swim infront of all our eyes, all the while...like this fluid life swims by..and we as poets try to grasp the rapture..
Beautiful..!!
I'm gonna link you even if its my first visit here. Hope you wouldnt mind.
And that is possible only for a Poet.
Kudos!
A flash of pure brilliance here!