Sunday, 24 November 2013

Poetry to me

All art is meaningless.
Because meanings are
Always so contextual!
But Art aspires for universal.

And strange it is...
What makes it One,
Is also what is its pain
Of being unwarranted.

So is poetry nothing
But the joy of fulfilling,
What was unachievable
In the rigour of real life?

So the performer wears
a costume in bright colors.
And the music behind
Way too loud and jarring!

Is poetry the lion roaring
Under the circus lights!
Yet happy in a cramped cage
Alone in the pale moonlight...

Is poetry the book half read
And buried in sands of time?
Your mind fills in the rest...
The protagonist is you now.

And is poetry nothing but a poem,
Incomplete... waiting for ending lines?

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