When I read a Wilde's poem on Sheru's blog and find Arun dabbling in free verse on his blog, how can I resist the temptation to share one of my poetic expressions. These days I hardly read & write poetry. Management is too 'dry' a subject and suffocates the tendency to appreciate the nuances of nature. While going through various management models & strategies, I long for the 'company' of Rilke, Shelley & Whitman.
Steps being watched covertly
by an enigmatic stare
a silent gaze
of an unseen face
Shocked
by the stoical expression
nothing moves
all is still
but dreams and clouds
Surrounded
in a hall of faces
prostrating before the dead
painful heart
empty stomach
Dreamed
of love unborn
and passion abundant
helpless intelligence
lifeless creativity
Laid
to rest in mangers
with sick and demented
tight lipped
defiantly conscious
Ossified
like an extinct volcano
a moss covered crater lake
3 comments:
Here below is the critique of my poem by dear Uncle, Mr. M.S. Verma, a retired lecturer in english literature.
My dear Gaurav
I enjoyed reading your poem. Through abstract and oblique references, and imagery you have succeeded in creating a solid idea of an optimist surrounded by distressing visions, sights and sounds moving on inexorably to throttle the modern individual; leaving hardly any room for breathing and making survival in the dismal surroundings, though of man's own creation.
But the protagonist in your poem is too self-willed and strong to be cowed down by his predicament. The fate is not inescapable and one can still manage to live with one's head high. I feel this is the best strategy for a modern young man to make his mark in life.
I rerally enjoyed reading the poem and congratulate you on writing it.
love
MS
I wish I could have agreed agreed with the gentleman's opinion of your poem. However, therein lies a huge dilemma. I would have to open my dictionary for that. Hence, I shall do what most people do when they don't get what the other person is saying.. disagree.
Was kidding.
I love the first stanza, its like someone watching over your shoulder or maybe we seeing everything going around and getting down with it, but feeling that someone is there looking out for us.
Rule 1: Never get sirdies to analyse poetry.
Rule 2:Never get sirdies to analyse poetry.
Dear Sheru,~
1) You forget the entire "Granth Sahib" is poetry. So how can 'Sirdies' be poor at comprehending poetry? It is in their blood.
2) One of the brightest modern critic of english literature [in India] is Prof. Darshan Maini [obviously a surd], who used to teach at Punjab Univ., c'garh. (I'm not sure the gentleman is still alive or not. But I used to read with great interest his columns in The Tribune and The HT).
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