Writing poetry about not being
able to write poetry
is what being a poet is all about
for it is a prime example
of our blashphemous nature
our rebellious thoughts !
our need for truth in all our works !
For
poets are but a glass full of
turbulant emotions,
poured into words !
intoxicating free spirits ,
Lovers !
those who choose drunkeness over
sobriety of this world !
Farewell !
to the red brick walls of golden memories
the years of friendship , bonds of camaraderie
Tried and tested, Strengthened over time
A feat most exemplary!
And Adiós too
to the days of being young wild and free
to the carefree crushes and heartbreaks
the teasing and mirth of our foolish buggery
the twilight days of our youthful teens!
And finally Adieux too
to the teachers , the bearers of knowledge
the moulders of our mind, responsible for
the metamorphosis of our self , An evolution
of the revolutionist kind!
He looks in the mirror
and what does he see,
A man, broken lost
and devoid of glee,
A soul,
Tortured and maimed
Lost and alone,
Trapped in the fires
of the love he bore,
Burning bright forevermore
forevermore,
For,
He sought the light of Evenstar
dire and serene,
Forever shining like the
trembling starlight of
heavens far unseen,
Forever intoxicating
like fresh summer wine
or mead,
Forbidden both to mortal
man and heavenly beign,
Therefore suffering
he will forever remain,
Trapped by cupids
curse and passion
untamed,
For,
he will never touch
but only stare,
At,
the light of stars
in here hair,
At,
the alluring pout
of her glistening
lips,
At,
the irresistable
sway of her hips,
At,
her eyes gateways
to her soul,
At,
her raiment
glimerring gold
Untill, She dwindles
or is possesed
By,
Someone who he
will forever hate
and detest,
For,
he will walk this earth
with the goddess of love,
For ,
he will walk this earth
with a jewel from above.
*image credit :- God bless google!
Kashf e Khudi / Divulgence of Self 