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Monday, January 31, 2005


Poetry reveals, you say,
And i raise an eyebrow
(Trying very hard, you see,
To look wise and highbrow).

For your poetry is your cape
My matador fair,
Your verse read, i charge, aflame,
But you're no longer there.

Poetry reveals, you say,
Yes, i know that's true.
It tells me lots about me,
And nothing about you.

© Peter Griffin January 2005

A new sawaal, while i play with an overdue jawaab.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005


I thought, I could, at least, amuse you.
Yes, I took your name, once,
on which to suckle my infant verse.
Yes, I crushed a paragraph, as fodder,
for hungering sentences of lust and love.
But I did not mean to use you.
I was trying to amuse you.

True, I might have stolen the gist
of a spontaneous outburst, or two.
True, I might have borrowed your vices
to hurl back, bundled in my own.
For, all your sins, I did excuse you.
My sins, I knew, would amuse you.

It was a habit to be on your side,
in every war, of word and faith.
It was a habit to let you rave, and rant,
and, with a shrug, to make you ache.
To hurt you, lest your mind abuse you.
To suffer, for it did amuse you.

Sometimes, I played the game with you
of yes and no and yes and no.
Sometimes, I played at wrong-and-right,
waiting for you to guess, and win.
I lost, I lose, I could not lose you.
Victory, I guessed, would amuse you.
I thought, I could, at least, amuse you.

(C) Annie Zaidi, Jan 2005

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

With or without your words

Your words?
They made me look.
i'll admit that, no pretenses.

But no,
They're not the hook.
i'll take - happily - your silences.

You see,
It's not the words so warm
That you so deftly spin

It's where they come from
That wonderful heart within.

When they won't play,
When tears, not words, glisten,

When you have nothing to say,
i'll be here, to listen.

© Peter Griffin - January 2005

jawaab to this