Friday 27 June 2014

I am...

Bloodline is inherited.
Not the poetry within.

Born off a poet       Doesn't make you one.
Nor does it             Ease your road.



Poetry isn't born off a fresh rose.
But,
The wounds,off the thorns.



Morning does show the day.
Just that,sometimes
The previous day's glory clings on          A patch of clouds
In the fresh morning sky.



I wanted to write.
But,
My lineage was too heavy.
I was afraid of failures,        Of disgrace
Till I was pushed against the wall.


I knew I had to write.          I just had to write.


People pulled me down.       My shoulders,weighed down off history.
I tripped.I fell.                      And rose again,to poetry.


I have read Tagore.        I have read Shakespeare.

Not Picasso.                  Neither Neruda.


I'm just Pablo.....


1 comment:

  1. true..inherited names can become your map and easiest route to success ..but only when used for the purpose..for rebels even this may pose as obstacles.

    and new format of writng too..nice.

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