On Poems On Women... Poem by Praveen Thach

I can feel there is a poem around her,
Only if she could stop her singing,
The flying words would show themselves.
And those notes would stop their stinging.

Some of them words are worried,
The color of her dress aint matching.
So i tell them to stop their crying,
Soon they will be deep in her heart, quietly buried.

Those words on her sleeve
Beg to be forgotten.
So i tell them to stop their beggin.
That evening dress will be gone by morning.

Pen in my hand is losing its patience.
It doesnt know how to write in spaces.
So i tell it to go on waiting.
writing always comes second
to a woman singing.

As for the poem,
It grew tired of posing.
But its better not to ask it to do anything.
Because they too are like women,
We never know what they are thinking.

Maybe this sounds like
its coming from a fool of lesser degree,
Trying to figure out a poem or women,
Sometimes they are on,
Sometimes they are off,
Just like fireflies...