The curse of man
The genius does something retarded
And is impressed at his creativity
Like he was bored with being smart every time
And is happy with a new experience
The two lovers feel they are stronger
After fighting and making up
When they promise to never break up
With the inevitability they will sooner or later
The father looks at son
And is awestruck at how protective he feels
Feeling the same awesome way
When he spanks the lad impatiently
The psychologist who visits another psychologist
And sees herself being analysed by the other
Saying things she knows she could have expressed herself
Without being charged per unit time
Oh! What do we really know about even ourselves
The one minute pontificating about power, love and intellect
The next minute acting like spineless, selfish halfwits
Yet feeling grandiose again before the day is over
P.S.: And this bored lazy writer
Reels simple ideas recklessly out
Yet knowing the distinct appeal
Of sensibly organized poetry form
Writing like nothing in his piece
Even remotely refers to his humanity
Claiming the power of the artist is purely imaginative
Yet knowing the power of art is in soul-ish expression
I see nothing
Besides blank white space
No doodles of art
Or words of wisdom
I am writing nothingness
Onto this nothingness
I am supposed to be writing the seventh line
But I see no letter or word
Am I dumb and unable to communicate sense
Or just blind to the sense I am communicating
But, if I am seeing white
I must be seeing clearly
Even though there’s nothing
To be seen on this blank space
Except the fact I have attempted to write something
And given the reader of this blank space
The feeling that he/she is reading something
The satisfaction of witnessing a work of art
That he/she has just read a piece from/of my mind
Let’s all stop and rest now. Thank you.
Love ? I love love love you. (Photo credit: @Doug88888)
Introductory note: The Enchanted Writer is sick to the bones, and won’t be writing for a while. He is down with the flu. Some who know him as a medical doctor may be asking why he doesn’t treat himself. I met him last night when he told me he caught the virus whilst worrying over occurrences around him regarding people and love. He had always had his idea of what love was, being raised in the arms of the Creator who knew how to love like heaven.
You kicked me in the side
Told me you were just playing
I winced in pain
You barked loudly in my ear
Told me you were just talking
I shifted with discomfort
You gripped me by the arms
Told me you were holding me
I fought for ease
/then you upped the game/
You lied to my face
Told me you were protecting me
I bow in shame
You threatened, flared and raged
Told me you were expressing your feelings
I cringe in fear
You gave me silent treatment overdose
Told me you were controlling your emotions
I shiver in cold
You hurt my body and soul in a fit of emotions
Told me your love was passionate
I cry in regret
I gave my body, soul and life
Told you I loved you
I died in love
Love is sacrifice
Author’s note: I hope my dear Enchanted One does not lose his life until he has found a cure for the lovaster that’s at large!
Word helper: Lovaster –a term derived by standard etymological processes from “love” and “disaster”.
Was a wine-lover
Lounging in the evening breeze,
Then saw a wonder.
Red sky turns lively;
Angels whipping demon-butts
Could be seen clearly.
Off to the cellar,
I rolled out my wine barrels
And worked my lighter!
Can I sing while crying?
Does that mean sorrow and joy can’t coexist?
Can I build my house out on the fringes of the universe?
Does that mean I am no more human?
Can I build a house without doors?
Does that mean I will never feel like a prisoner?
Can I build a house without light bulbs?
Does that mean I will live in darkness always?
Can I wake up every morning with my eyes closed?
Does that mean I am still lost to reality?
Can I eat with my mouth closed?
Does that mean I am not enjoying the meal?
Can I walk about with a heavy countenance?
Does that mean I am not a happy soul?
Can I work with a light heart?
Does that mean I have no passion?
Can I work without overtime?
Does that mean my business will not grow?
Can I enjoy a happy meal at home at night?
Does that mean I have no burdens?
Can I lead a quiet life alone in my house at night?
Does that mean I am a lonely soul?
Can I sleep off with my eyes open?
Does that mean I am an insomniac?
P.S.: I know things aren’t always what they seem; but, please kind Creator, help me see the truth, and keep my world revolving steadily around you even if there be earthquakes all over it.
Am I allowed to pray like this on wordpress.com?
Or does that mean I am a religious bigot?