The truth about poetry
I have no poetry
in me;
What you see is vented steam.
It tells you nothing
about me;
I try and keep it clean
(No one ought to see
the muck leading to creation).
I have no poetry:
I simply honour the tradition
of lying in blank verse.
I try and keep it terse
as I betray sentiment, through syllable
schemes of a workable rhythm.
Poetry is but the terrible
silence after a scream.
Poetry is but let-off steam;
Read nothing into it;
Seek nothing in it.
[Another attempted jawaab. This one is better... yes?]
(C) Annie Zaidi, Jan 2005
in me;
What you see is vented steam.
It tells you nothing
about me;
I try and keep it clean
(No one ought to see
the muck leading to creation).
I have no poetry:
I simply honour the tradition
of lying in blank verse.
I try and keep it terse
as I betray sentiment, through syllable
schemes of a workable rhythm.
Poetry is but the terrible
silence after a scream.
Poetry is but let-off steam;
Read nothing into it;
Seek nothing in it.
[Another attempted jawaab. This one is better... yes?]
(C) Annie Zaidi, Jan 2005
© | 3:06 pm
3 Comments:
Just trying to make me look bad, no? Like two excellent jawaabs and i still haven't got one.
:(
Nice!
You say "Read nothing into it;
Seek nothing in it." ...and that compels me to do just the opposite!
Silence of words after screams of disorder?
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