Cold-bloodedly,
I poison my precious poem
with the tip of my quivering quill
to quench the venomous quest
of my crystal inkpot!
Burying the edited lexis from my perished poetry
in the grisly graveyard of
dusty Dictionaries and tattered Thesaurus
I nip a bud from a withered bouquet of
touch-me not blues
and preserve the petals in the perky pages
of my decaying diary…
I push my pristine poetries in the ‘tower of silence’
for the heartless hungry vultures
who will devour them briskly,
while the inedible skeletons will melt
in the holy fires of eternity…
I crumple my unpublished work
and toss them in the unfathomable depths of dust-bin
lying near the moth-eaten closet at the Editor’s dusty desk!
With my ink-stained immaculate fingers
I strangle my perennial poem to premature demise.
Lets pray for her sanctimonious salvation
And hope she attains Nirvana
and get a peerless placement in
the lexiconian library of immortality…
Amen!
Copyright ©2008 Bharat B. Trivedi
Here, in this poem, Death wins Death, th cross becomes a resurrection (responds to my poem MY OWN TOMB) . I give you a 10++ dear Bharat. Thanks for sharing. Joseph Josephides Member of the International Society of Poets (ISP) Int.Lib.Poetry awarded
A poem though slated to be dead, resurrects magnificent here from every crucified line...top class, Bharat...my ten for this
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An extremely wonderful poem, sir. And very thoughtful too. Thank you.