just after finishing hot bath
toweled she came out
with long sound
'Poetry is a triangular art'
it was a hill-top room
we two took a hide
knowing none our escape
in our beginning days of youth
again louding her voice
she tried hard to communicate
my wisdom level
I confess, without her flesh
nothing was my interest at that moment
but she hanged on a demand to debate
'Feelings, thoughts and words
three points to connect by conscious'
this time I fall sudden on a battle ground
to decide which side I had to carry my voice
first, I could take a challenge to condemn her
second, I could try to stretch the idea
with some acceptable logic to establish her innovation
it was a crucial juncture because she was not my own
a girl who always needed the different chaps to fire her
yet here poetry was the autocrat who demanded
its clarification
when she asked my opinion told her quiet cool
'It's obvious a point of view needs more discussion
and we will arrange a platform to define
the acceptance of your hot-bath hypersensitivity'
Sad was that
that moment she left me alone on that hill-top
and went away forever to accelerate her proposition
sad is also that
long years already disappeared from my canvas of life
I have not got any such equation to define poetry yet!
Pranab k c
22/12/2014
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Quite an interesting anecdote from your youthful days when she showed you poetry as a three dimensional art, of which you were not fully convinced, but later with the passing of years was able to admit that her definition of poetry was the best, you could ever find! Enjoyed the poem!