It is like wearing a corset for three thousand years.
And shoving crumpled pieces of paper down the throat,
When all you wanted was a night lamp and your favourite slim volume.
‘Dark lady’ and “Stella’ s are figments of imagination.
A muse for the sake of a muse –
And under the moon light, beneath your balcony, the serenades and trinkets;
Seemed so passé.
No flowing white gowns or stifling hyperboles.
Shakespeare can take a life long break.
Metres, feet and syllables dissolve.
Till only a thought is left.
A thought that burns and asks the shadow to dance.
Poetry- they call it.
More to read in Poems
To Mark Your Departure
Past – Unforgotten
Recall Rhyme
Pic courtesy: Morguefile
