Skip to main content

I'm too shallow to write a verse

I'm too shallow to write a verse
To wrap around the twists and turns
To dwell unto my own, I do
Living somebody else's life or my own?
Shrouded under piles of thought,
I scribble, thinking only of the applause.

I'm too shallow to write a verse or two
To make ends meet, I'm too cuckoo.
I'm not the classic, scratching blue
wooing 'em, tearing 'em apart 
with every word.

I'm not the one who rhymes
nor the one with notes for those lyrics.
I'm the one who scribbles
blotching blue on all my troubles,
roiling over moments back and forth,
trying to string those stray words,
into at least a doggerel.
 
See, I don't make sense. 
I told you, I'm too shallow
to pen that sonnet, that ballad,
that haiku, that refrain, that ode.

I'm forcing it out
all that gibberish snowballed 
unto mine,
to chime and rhyme 
but nevertheless I realise
in time,
I'm to shallow to be read
over cheese and wine.






Comments

Popular posts from this blog

FOUND

                                          CHAPTER 1 It was one of those days of monotony that Maureen had to spend. Sitting outside the office cabin of her boss, answering the ever- ringing phones, charting out schedules for his day, making arrangements for client meetings and lunch calls and such other things a secretary is paid to do. It was the eve of her first year of wedding anniversary and also the day when she is about to get paid for the month long mixed bag of work she had executed so perfectly. But her boss was quite rigid and insensitive. He never got to recognize the quality with which she executed her work. Long past eight, she returned home with her wallet full of fresh cash and a huge box of assorted gifts for her husband, whom she had been yearning to see. She had already missed the lunch date for that day, they had planned the previous day, because of her ever-complaining boss. As she walked into the hall, she saw the telly set blaring with stoma

To share...

As I was walking on the narrow pavements flooded with rain water near my college, I saw an old man with a heavily rimmed, almost broken pair of glasses just sticking to his nose. He was very feeble and exhausted of all spirit. He wore a tattered and almost brown dhoti and was barefoot, leaning on a stick. He sat on one corner and started to open his packet of food that he had luckily earnt for the day.  His hands terribly shook when he unwound the packet and by the time he opened it, half the food was spilt on the ground and he had just a bare minimum to fill his stomach with. He laid the packet slowly on the ground and started to eat it. Just as he was beginning to eat, there was a stray dog beside him lying on the hard floor. It seemed to be recently stoned in a terrible way, that it was even unable to move, it kept looking at his packet of food with yearning eyes. The old man looked at the dog, he stared at it quietly for a while, and then to my surprise, his fa

Arching wings

   The little one spread wings, On it's day which was dark, but ruled the sky after fall. Image:  Internet