Friday, July 24, 2009

Rant about love.

What do I know about love.
Make love, bake love
manufacture it
plastic love
I dont have any of it
What do I know about love?

I have never kissed a girl.
Her tender soft lips
dont exist for me
it exists for a jerk who had
the guts to tell her
that he wants to kiss her
the very first time they went out.
not for me
Ill just look and admire and smile
and melt and worship and die
Die for a caress from her lips?

She will talk about me
Nice guy, she'll say
he cooks well,
he is courteous and graceful
and a good singer and athletic
and then she'll forget completely
as her hands are in someone elses
some jackass who proposed to her
when she was sixteen
when they thought love
was another flavour of coffee
What do they know about love?

I know nothing
I am sick of love
sick of knowing that I dont know
sick of even writing this poem
I should stop
I have no right to write
when all I have is thought
and all I have done
is naught.
What does anyone know about love?

Thursday, July 09, 2009

Three princes, one poet

There was sounding of horns
and pomp and splendour
and gaiety and laughter and light
Tonight the king's daughter,
the king's only daughter
will choose her prince tonight.
Crowds gathered in thousands
for the choice of a king
was an important matter indeed
Who will win her hand ?
Which young and handsome
prince in this contest, succeed ?

From lands that were far
and wide and long
and smooth and hilly and bright
Three princes, riding
their royal steads
rode royally into sight
Bedecked they were,
in the best of pearls
vast oceans in disguise
sylvan silks with streaks
of gold, their princess
to entice.

She strode out slow
sweet autumn breeze
she knew she could stir the leaves
she was sky,
the fire, the earth, the water
the air in a single heave
She looked at them, but
turned away
what sheer inanity!
Three noble men
with the noble intent
of looting her nubility

She said No
and turned and left
to her dreamy room above
They knew
not that she was snug
in the heady arms of love
Could they ever touch her
with their silver and
their swords
as He dressed
and draped her with
the finery of his words

This is the truth
in the scheme of life
she never gave them a chance
When in love, she
into an unmitigated trance
Remember wistful lover
love's ancient
the game is played
in a poet's mind
before the game is played.

- Harish Suryanarayana

PS: This was a poem I wrote for my poetry class, read out loud, on the penultimate day of class.