Sunday, May 28, 2006

Offerings

I can offer but little
But I offer it all –

The decaying body, battered and bruised,
Scars of defeat from battles unworthy,
The recurring dreams, dreadfully black and white,
Dreams devoid of reason, meaning or hope,
The blackened heart, faintly beating,
Freezing fast, going numb, dying,
The crocked mouth and wooden tongue,
Spitting feeble words; incoherent, inconsequential,
Can neither offer you the wine of life,
Nor the blissful poison of the night.

Yet, there are bits and pieces stashed away,
And some nights, the trapdoors give way,
And waves come rushing in, drowning all,
Light bearing row boats take the river of memories,
Candles are lit in the secret chambers of the heart,
And the dreams are no more black and white.
And the things that I write, on that night,
Sometimes strikes a cord or two.

That’s all I’ve got
And I give ‘em all to you.

5 comments:

Shakia said...

I'd gladly take them.. :)

Even the broken violin has some life left to give. Then again broken violins are likely to be put together. And give more life then one can ever desire...

NAB said...

omg Amit. I think this is going to be my favorite poem of yours from now on. It's beautiful. Gosh. You should like copyright them or something.
Gives this odyssey-like vibe. Very old greek. Images of dark waters, medieval emotions. Wow.
Speechless. Once again.

Weatherman said...

Shakia - Emm...ok. Paper or plastic?

Doc - you shoulda been a publisher. Btw...wont be much of a gift if u copywrited it yourself. Would it? Nah..seriously, u r just too kind. :)

Anonymous said...

Good poem -- but you must be the guy who invented the metaphor. How about writing a poem without a single metaphor or simile but in which each line speaks more words than it contains. Wish you all the best.

Weatherman said...

anonymous - I think I know what you mean. The thing is I know nothing about poetry and stuff. I write stuff from time to time just for the heck of it. About writing lines speaking more words that it contains, well, if I could do that, I woulda thought myself a real poet. :)