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Posted by
on Monday, August 09 @ 23:14:19 UTC
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: Agony of a Lost Poetess
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on Monday, August 09 @ 23:14:19 UTC
saikumarmenon writes:: " She wrote a short verse in humble vein,
Human feelings, of darkness, of light,
They cried, “Its clichéd”. Sneered in disdain,
“Childish, trite, the woman can’t write.”
She wrote a short verse of trees and bees,
“No not again,” came the snooty refrain,
“No meter, no rhyme, its not worth a dime”.
The torrent of scorn made her cry out in pain.
She wrote a long ballad of perverted lust,
Erotic stanzas of abandoned spree,
Rousing the libido of depraved mind,
“There’s hope for this lass,” came the lofty decree .
She finally wrote of a bizarre new world,
Of winds that were still and coal black sun,
Of houses of flesh and bridges of skin,
As the gibberish kept flowing, the plaudits poured on.
“Bravo, bravo,” they shouted. “Encore.”
“But it doesn’t mean a thing,” she cringed within,
The stranger the better, they clamoured for more,
Dumbly she thought, “Dot is but art and art is but dot.”
Empty phrase, disjointed thought,
“What pearls of wisdom,” the literati said,
Frozen in shock she watched distraught,
Simplicity died as she feigned instead.
© Sai Kumar Menon.
"
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Re: Agony of a Lost Poetess (Score: 1)
by funeral_of_hearts on Tuesday, August 10 @ 04:58:05 UTC
(User Info | Send a Message) | i like the way that this flows. You can almost feel the agony. It shows how corrupted people who critcise your work can be. Well, maybe thats what i think anyway.
Although i guess you have to be fair that the bizarre does influence peoples work. I know it has influenced alot of mine.
Very thoughtfull though. I applaud you. |
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