 |
| Image credit: google: amazon.com |
Got a secret I wanna tell you
No other soul knows about this
I suffer from an acute Poemiosis
A syndrome I contracted a few years ago
As I sniffed an allergen of the most infectious
Lines ever penned in Poe-history
Early morn, I would unashamedly sit
Tilting my mind at the precipice of madness
Laughing, re-reading lines, conversing
Unabashedly, as I travel home
Caught in a traffic jam, I would
Divide time into doses of poetry
To keep my syndrome
At a steady trot to licensed lunacy
My worried doc once put a stethoscope
Upon my chest, horrified, said,
“Strange, your heart beats
two-way, one shady
the other steady”
Upon which, unsurprised,
I quip,
“Doc, I have two hearts
The real heart pumps blood
My poet’s heart pumps a geyser
Jetting from within human soul
Now you know why”
But why I sit in Poetry Anonymous
I don’t know
Sitting there, confessing
My addiction, this Poemiosis
Good thing is I am better:
Another sweet soul, once stood,
A fireball of metered eyes he glazed
His frame bore the image of soul razed
Depraved, hungered as deep as into the
Bowels of the earth, timbred voice,
A wellspring of the echo of man,
Ricocheting off on the walls of conscience
He stood amidst us, his breast trembled
“Folks,” he started, “I apologize if
I show no remorse. I say let poets
And poetesses be, if my mind
Bore me to uncharted waters
Or got submerged in sand storms
That be me, peg your sorrows
on a tree-branch”
I was not sure who between me and him
Was better but poemiosis stalked us both.
Posts
