to write, you need...
or you might burst
paper, pen or a laptop
as if, it were an addiction.
yoga
an eye for the bad
the good
and most importantly
the grey
murder
a love for words
and their cosmic dance
from your pen
or mind.
deceit
hurt, pain,
loads of love
a passion for life
and everything it throws
at you
lies
a smile and a tear
a dark heart of gold
more yoga
a need to experience
everything
once, twice,
aw! all the time
mirchi pickle in mustard sauce
arrogance only if
coated in humility
papadams
meet aliens
at your doorstep
as if it happened
all the time
tight underwear
have sex atleast once
on the beach
to understand sand
been to a morgue lately?
fears: don't forget them
little monsters you know
fairies, goblins, elves
chudails and their cousins
a friendly personality
essential: a schizophrenic existence
walk in the park with
an imaginary pet or friend
conversations with self are normal
the ability to talk to strangers
wax your legs
if you are a guy
hairy underarms
natural eyebrows
as a style statement
if you are not
pranayams: they ease the pain
an education if you want to be a writer
none if you are a storyteller
finally, a muse
and then nothing matters
Labels: poetry
3 Comments:
What a great opening :-)
I don't have bushy eyebrows nor hairy underarnms but I still call myself a writer.
However, I love papadams and chillies, so I guess I can apply :-)
Shirley
an series of movements some more interesting than others - second
time yoga, sex on the beach -
but it works, like a voyeur
we gaze through these keyholes,
and imagine the rest of it...
very smooth indeed!
thank you, mes amis.
it helps to hear back and understand the communication that you set rolling got a further thought.
;-D
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