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Interpreted

I am sleepless at nights.
Between you and me
and our rhymetic and prosaic verses
Lies a Judas- perspectives.

Yours and mine and theirs.

Replication is for machines. And uniqueness is an illusion in a crowd. Because anyday we all are grouped to be too common or too unique.

Just like this above contradiction,
I concur...

...Lets not decipher a beautiful thought.
I can take an oath against my limitations
and say, interpreting is an insult sometimes.
You can take a poem for a petal
And sit there, just admire. Can't you?

Because oneday you will mother an orphan emotion.
I shall examine the skeleton and laugh.

Would you like that Poet?

SoUmY@

[You are free to avoid this piece as a crazy social experiment going wrong :) ]


Comments

Usha Pisharody said…
Why did I read this just today, being online after an aeon? Because I wanted a petal to admire? Because I wanted that particular orphaned emotion to [s]mother??

I shall never know. But this I do. That I am the gladdest, that I read from you today, and.... need I say it?

I do like this poet very much :) :)

Will always too :)

Thank you, Soumya, your experiment, as you say, has brightened my night like nothing else :) Indebted!
Anonymous said…
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Untitled

Wish I could be a cloud one day I will love to be grey if its you To whom, through whom I traverse. Transparency is optimum; For I know you are unattainable like the sand escaping from the fist like the meaning assumed from the gist. look, oh yes, I can rhyme too. If you wish I can artify our world. Inspiration never needs a permit. You had asked, Why do I vomit blood. Interruptions in dreamy un-realism doesn't suit me. I know. So I write. So that I can breathe you in and breathe dreams out. Live long, you had wished. (Wished), did you? honestly? I will let it pass like just another Failed attempt to face reality Finds itself en-route to contamination. Oh! then what is pure? you may ask. Purity is not you, not me, but us. Purity is the way verses traverse. I will vomit to death one day. Do not pray for me. Pray for my poems who are quiet. Let them borrow my breaths. Let the poetry for us live. (And the footnotes conclude:) You - a miser in love Me - a happy lender. SoUmy@