A Poet’s Confession

There was a door left ajar,To a room where the light,Was dim, and letters I saw,Were dancing in chirping joy, My heart beating swiftly now,I went inside and saw on the chair,Was sitting fiction and writing itself,He held my hand and said,Write, you write!And I took the pen, as I was,About to write some fiction,Of characters myriad, And stories untold,His sister poetry got upset,She dragged me by hand,To another world of flying words,Bathed my soul into ink,That was as black, as shadowMine, but I had a new pen,A golden pen, she grinned, And said,Write, you write!And I took her pen,Soon I began to write,Verses myriad, weaving dreams,Making love with lover mine,Times as much I desired,Romance sat on the same,Couch I had once sat by,Maudlin emotions, poetry,Gave me wings to soar,She became my mate,And I her soul mate!Yet again in that room,Her another brother came, prose!And said to me annoyed,How naive of thy mind,Write me, you write!And gave me the silver pen,I took it and wrote stories,Few, and oft they stole,My sweet slumber, they,Haunted me in places all,Where my heart feared,To dwell, they were so real,Oh! The characters were real,That’s how he made me write,And soon I surrendered,Oh! Yes I succumbed from prose,And ran away, to meet lover,Mine, she was not in that,Room anymore, left long ago,Poor me couldn’t I keep her,Safe in my heart, she was like,A soothing gust that came with,A flow, and so I crossed,The meadows of lore, Swimming through the,Rivulet of ballads, and climbing,The mountains of sonnets,At last found her in the shrine,Of youth, waited she for me,She never grew old, only me,And I held her hand, she kissed,Me on forehead mine, like a,Mother to her child I took,Refuge into her lap till eternity… Words By : Monalisa Joshi

Source: A Poet’s Confession


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