| My fair Sir, and notice that is not a pun I play,
Mine frivoulous words that spoke of sorrow to no one but myself, Glowing with the touch of the cynical, confused with yellows fighting, Spelled you as a charmer and me as a fool Yet misunderstood remains my middle name. Why oh why? Do you know not of withering charm? Riding at the back of winds, spited by the wolves, played by the whistling trees, sung by the birds Tire, tire dear and wear off me I have rubbed, scrubbed and succumbed Shame on you Sir, shame on you For keeping me such a happy fool. "Where were you?" the young man asks. Clipped at the feet, moved by the sun Behind you, just where shadows always are. Of no daffodils or tulips, simply the dark delineation of your life tried, tested and true. Swarmed by fair maidens from where I stand, Yes, you have and no I haven't, I haven't outgrown Neverland. Question your noble intentions I did not. Sir, there are questions I'm still afraid to ask. Perhaps because of answers unsought. A fair day it was, the day your eyes inquired, "Shall we dance?" But I insisted on grudges that we never held. Maybe I was wrong; we should have danced. You say you shall never dance again. And mine guilty feet have no rhythm. Pluck the strings, strum the pain away Of the song that you refuse to play? 'Tis time for the future, maybe from where you stand. You say you remember. I remember and wish, Yes, you have and no, I haven't; and I will never outgrow Neverland. -Purti Awal , 2006 |
| Two Summers Ago Dedication: Poet-on-the-go Inspiration: The best poems are the ones that are written at the spur of the moment, of no one, by no one, for no one. Waging a poeming battle with someone I cannot compete with. Alas, I had to borrow from the Neverland; shouldn't have borrowed from the Neverland project. |