Sunday, July 19, 2015

I try to kill Poetry in my heart

I try to kill Poetry in my heart
I tell it to stop growing
It has too long been associated with a single person
And that person has gone
So I tell poetry to go too
I dont know how to write about anything else anyone else
Just becoming her makes me feel frail
But Poetry is stubborn
It smiles wryly at me
As I sit listlessly, my legs
dangling over the railing
It is there holding me
That night when I succumbed to crying
My heart hasn't been spent yet, it points
To the flames erupting outside
My world besieged by history
And I am to be a marker of it,
The observer, the writer, the participator
The person who breeds poems in her heart.

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