I used to enjoy and also found
it much easier to write in verse form when I was much younger—I find it
immodest to use the word ‘poem’ even though that is what I aim at. Maybe there is
a natural flow of feeling and evocation of wonder at that age that makes it
easier. Or maybe as you read a lot of hard prose as you grow older you lose a
certain lyrical and softer quality of expressing ideas and emotions. I don’t
know what it is…but even now, now and then, I feel the urge to dabble in verse…
Many a time have I thought of
you:
Of words you said, of words I
might have said,
Of words I did say, of words
you left unsaid,
Of words that didn’t matter,
of words that shattered.
And when I think of all those
words now,
I smile at myself,
At the waste of all those
words.
I see with wisdom born of
clarity,
That it was never about words.
posted by Sylvia D'souza at 5:51 am
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