The pen rules me,
And many are the hours when it compels me to verse.
Tonight the subject is your hair.
God Herself must envy it.
You are one gorgeous brunet!
One thing for sure,
Were you competing with immortal beauties
In contest for 'woman's richest ornament',
World-Title would perforce be yours.
Yet to describe your crowning glory,
No easy matter, it requires a new vocabulary,
A ready command of grammar and idiomatic expression.
Really! Think on it a moment!
All the right words have been used
Countless times before! Tell me,
What hope have I sufficiently to praise
Tresses whose luster utterly captivates my gaze?
What phrase may convey the special
Weight and texture of keratin length,
Which now known to my hand?
Is it enough?
May I sum your majesty, simply say?
I love to curl your hair
Round my fingers when we sleep!
I wish to say, oh girl.
Your hair, it has that electric feel.
Darling, were you to leave me,
Would I ever survive without you?
World too cruel a place,
Neither day nor night could I face without you!
Yet understand I have no wish to suffocate.
I picture no two-bit romance,
Needy lovers joined at the hip. I want
Your freedom and seek only to sleep,
Whatever length of time Destiny grants,
Your body next to mine,
My fingers wrapped in splendor of you, brunet.
STANLEY PACION's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Brunet by STANLEY PACION )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(19 April 1928 - 26 December 2006)
(2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928)
(3 June 1926 – 5 April 1997)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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