From The Bard's Pen

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and
admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet,
to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me—
nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.

- Hamlet

Thursday, June 9, 2011

the way i write...

i have changed the way i write.
i no longer rhyme
Don’t even try to.

Pages are meant to be scribbled upon
And i’m still clueless
How a scribble becomes a poem.

Joining alphabets does not come easily
Words are mere inky feelings
And the jotting down is a permanence they shrink away from.

After a time you stop writing about love.
And the “I” disappears slowly..
Very slowly.

Hundreds of pages filled with “I’s”
Seem pathetic
Too many dots of assurance
Covering a towering me.

Now i just bow, kneel occasionally
My “I’s” still unavoidable
Yet a move beyond “me”.

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