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A Non-poet's Philosphy

All poets write in insanity
Impervious, to the entire
You,
The king of your own poetic empire
as thoughts get formation
each different, in poetic efficiency

I,
An adulterated soul
You,
With the rein, control
And you make me lurk in your words
Like those lonely, pale birds
Your quill, into that paper, bleeds
And she says in her musical voice: Proceed”
and you portray my misplaced soul
in the veiled privacy of twilight
in your new-born mind of sight, deep insight

You,
in a steep valley side of paradise
idly extracting the elixir of the unexplainable
and redressed, arise
Exotically, master the unattainable
in expectant poetry;
churned out of sleep in disharmony
I stand still, hopeless
sleep a sleep, but dreamless
betwixt you and your sword
that swings in its own accord
that pierce into my soul,
and carve out a hole

Eccentric, you
Carried away by the river of your soul
Into a fathomless abyss of fantasy
And you swim with the demons in that void
And rule king and decree
If they live or die
you’re never clear, you’re never explainable

Your hair creeps down your knees, and you don’t care
With no sense of time, you sit in your chair
Engrossed in your void of abstruse sight
That chasm of immortal delight
Why? You, like a fearful knight
Are you some angel in the air of a sprite?
Your body dies, but you live in tranquility
Was what you ate in heaven, the fruit of eternity?

Intrusions in delusions
Allusions of illusions
infinite, widespread
uncorrupted, unsaid

The spark of life, mystifying,
Elegant, reflecting elegance
You,
You laughed about a jejune mind; me
You jeered about sterile soul; me

You laughed, and I cried
You lived and I dreaded
It’s my turn to laugh
Remember,
My face will reflect, back to you
Back to you
Just as yours did,
From those magazine covers
that reflected back like paintings on polished mirrors

Never! Never! Never!
Never would I let you to out master me
Understand
I too have a voice
A voice
You transform me into you
Through your words
The gravity of your pen holds all down
But I will still be me.
Can I?

12 o' clock, December 8 2009

I wrote this poem at midnight, without any lights on!

© Copyright Aiswarya T Anish, Kerala, India

poem by Aiswarya T. Anish
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