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Death of a Poet
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bishupoetry The poet lay still and calm in the hearse
Flower bedecked... mourning multitudes
Time has stood still for the cold,lifeless poet
He has abandoned his writing tools forever
There is an unusual coolness in the air
Nauseating smell of incense and flowers
His neurons are now frozen;never to thaw
No feelings or words will escape his rigid fingers
He thought so much of his kin his country
The land in which he was born and bred
Noisy cacophony audible through the window
He painted in gaudy colours the characters
Whom he met ,interacted with on his journey
The quarrels,the heartaches,the love,the affection
All the stage artists spoke and acted
With vivid words he painted
Readers cursed,smiled and cried
The white haired,tall Philosophy professor
Sipping his morning cuppa sitting on a leather chair
Smoking a well used pipe with teeth marks
Wearing a silk dressing gown tied at the waist
Poring over the newspaper smoking his pipe
The lawn beyond;green speckled with white button-flowers
Readers form an image of his intellect
From mere words from mere words his looks are sculpted
A naked brown-skinned baby
Crawling in the roadside mud
Puking from the stale food,nose running
His mommy scarcely pays attention
She's busy cleaning and scrubbing
Description of the toddler fills the pages
The dozens of slippers on the temple steps
Of devotees inside praying
The poet can no longer write his "goodbye"
©bishu
Ah, you possess a painter's
Ah, you possess a painter's eye for detail. Each line is rich with highly-evocative imagery. :)
So nice to get a fresh new commentator Respected Peter C
So nice to get a fresh new commentator Respected Peter C.Nicey for a soggy sailorman with one eye popped.OMG Thanx Thanx Thanx Sir.
©bishu
Bishu...my dear respected
Bishu...my dear respected fellow poet, I love love love the way you describe poverty and the downtrodden of society. I have admired that since I've read your work. I also like when you make clear the contrasts between rich and poor. It is most often "picture perfect". I will hopefully develop those skills, but also, I think it may be because one cannot express deeply what they have not touched in boldness, as I am sure happens much more often in India than the US. Bravobravobravo!! Great tribute with awesome descriptives.
......
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
A humble soggy sailor accepts your comments happily Respected SS
A humble soggy sailor accepts your comments happily Respected SS.Your skills are unique Respected SS .No two write alike.Like me,most of the time I'm lefe wondering if I performed OK in public.After all, some do read my humble & imperfect words.I'm happy that you read posts of this minion crawling in the slushy,muddy,slimy bog filled with slithering snakes and biting insects.Happiness to you Respected & kind SS.
©bishu