The ponderous chubbiness <br />of my poem's body expects what? <br />swollen adjectives, epithets, <br />attractive oggles of phrases, <br />bending of glossy necks of rhetorics- <br />mind it- so many wild words swirl <br />like the swing of her skirt, <br />when in exciting motion, <br />she moves on dancing in wined music- <br /> <br />This is an academic inn of temptation: <br />my writings must go on <br />moving round this hazy crowds <br />and pour elixir on the cups- <br />their white cups- and those must be filled- <br />smoke filled magic of the room, <br />coloured bulbs of glory, <br />puffs of pride- gestures of desires- <br />and their cliche cigars, shadowy pipes, <br />glorious handcarchiefs and <br />glass like brittle moods in colour- <br /> <br />I must make my way through <br />and sit deep within their hours' grip <br />and let them sip brimful sensuality, <br />let them breathe my deep instant; <br />the artful precious peeps out <br />from canyon of breasts <br />of my motioned verse, <br />let it whisper immortality- <br /> <br />Generations of mine, <br />starved of rhyme, <br />chewed nothings of life- <br />every tremor of lips for long years- <br />every speakable loses in vacant fears <br />and dies alone by unfortunate strife; <br />my poem must make heads <br />out of this silenced doom, <br />and surely with plumpness of art <br />it thinks making room <br />and wins the last gilded heart- <br /> <br />In the serpentine lanes of honour <br />we may not hold ever the flower- <br />but we may dance our words now, <br />while our hands flow, we vow <br />to speak the mad of us <br />to let loose the unspeakable rush <br />out in the testing mood of time- <br />my words so bold in round may chime <br />good new bends of life, <br />so that something of me looks really ripe...<br /><br />Rites Ghosh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/why-my-poetry-like-a-ponderous-maid/
