Thursday, September 15, 2011

Poetry

Poetry has been afflicting me. All of a sudden, here I am, writing god-knows-what-kind of poetry, most of it hidden. The truth of the matter is, I can't write poetry. The bunches of words that assume the shape and size of a poem are feelings waiting to burst out of the straight lines of my otherwise very monotonous prose. Here is a poem that captures what I feel:

My mind is
a jumble of prose
but when I think of
you, I think
in poetry.

The irony is
that you're the most
unpoetic of everyone
I know.

2 comments:

elbisivni said...

That is beautiful poetry.
Poetry rests and resides in places we aren't aware of and when there is a surge of any kind of emotions inside of us, it implodes and then arranges itself on the tip of your tongue in the form of poetic lines that you thought you were incapable of.
=)

elbisivni said...

That is beautiful poetry.
Poetry rests and resides in places we aren't aware of and when there is a surge of any kind of emotions inside of us, it implodes and then arranges itself on the tip of your tongue in the form of poetic lines that you thought you were incapable of.
=)