Friday, February 22, 2008

The Victim.

The Words they sat in a quiet huddle.

The Mind looked on in a bewildered muddle.

For in a heap lay all bound and tightly shackled

The Verse that the aspiring poet had tackled!

All metered and paired and cut to measure

Then fitted and rhymed to the poet’s pleasure !

A passing glance showed him to be ordinary

So inconspicuously plain and hardly exemplary.

Wearing tattered clich├ęs and ideas drab,

Tempting words, his hungry eyes did grab.

The oblivious poet in his euphoric daze

Did not see the Verse writhing, under his gaze.

He saw a new born gurgling in innocent content

Smiling at the world with naive intent.

As the Verse lay floundering in vain

To free himself, of this regimented pain,

The poet looked on with adoring fatherly eyes

At the ends meet, after several infantile tries!

As the Verse was gagged with sturdy Rhyme

He lay struggling in Rhythmic grime.

But the poet wore blinkers upon his eyes

And the desperate Verse soon gives up and dies.

The Words now mourned as they all stood around

The unmoving Verse, still ,shackled and bound.


Punam said...

That's a very nice poem. Your poetry sounds a lot like mine. I guess we are travelling on the same thinking lane.

Mister KB said...

this is again a very imaginative composition- I think that there is more than what the eye sees at first glance- is it about the joy of creation and the joy of the created too?