Bohemian
And I sold off my poems today.
The ones who bought it
had red sackbag with them.
They never knew what poetry is about,
neither did they care.
They cared about the ounce and pounds.
Convert the numerics if you will.
I have a bright Eucalyptus as my memory.
Can green be bright?
Perhaps. They have the Sun behind them.
The roots have reached where they should not.
Restraint is a play of nervous system.
You may be as random as your favorite liqour
And its a pity that it takes one peg to write a poetry
or may be one or two smokes.
Art always was whimsical, but never sedated.
With a little of all that we know,
and all that we don't,
a violin, little rings of cigar
and lost alleys of Varanasi,
You won't know what you are,
Unless you have lost yourself
Once.
SoUmY@
The ones who bought it
had red sackbag with them.
They never knew what poetry is about,
neither did they care.
They cared about the ounce and pounds.
Convert the numerics if you will.
I have a bright Eucalyptus as my memory.
Can green be bright?
Perhaps. They have the Sun behind them.
The roots have reached where they should not.
Restraint is a play of nervous system.
You may be as random as your favorite liqour
And its a pity that it takes one peg to write a poetry
or may be one or two smokes.
Art always was whimsical, but never sedated.
With a little of all that we know,
and all that we don't,
a violin, little rings of cigar
and lost alleys of Varanasi,
You won't know what you are,
Unless you have lost yourself
Once.
SoUmY@
Comments
Almost as if you speaking to me, about something that binds us, in manner, known only to us, almost.
And I loved the slow pace with which it opens up and then just carries on.
Bful...
N i so truly agree that unless you lose urself.. ll not know urself... but llet the loss nt be loose... n closely tighty lost in your venturia!
Actually lykd the way u gradually unfolded the msg... Bful, yet again!
Each line is one that can be expounded, elaborated, enshrined, eloquently, always... :)
But this one takes it away...
"Art always was whimsical, but never sedated." I see why others have also picked on the nuances here!
And this one seals it perfectly!
"You won't know what you are,
Unless you have lost yourself
Once"
You have us lost in the poem. And you make us want to lose ourselves, the sanity that is so limiting, to find a whimsical, frail and fragile piece of ourselves to share, as you have in this poem!
I can never tire of using this word, on this blog. Brilliant!
:) yes. You know it better.
Sheph, let's take the implications only then.
Kamna, beauty is you. Thanks for sharing some. :)
Usha ma'am, I don't get surprised after all these days, that you could find out so much and eerily everything I wanted to say and more.
Blessed I am that you were there.
And to you all, the same.