It would be dishonest of me.
It has stayed with others.
It has marks of many fingers,
Drops of happiness that flowed from lips
of others
Have left dried stains under its rim.
Still, I would give you this unworthy gift
If only I were not sure that you too,
Satiated, will return it.
4 comments:
hi
emotions are often the smogasbord upon which many dreams are sailed or drowned in..
incredible that you can string the beads of words with such ease :)
thanks for sharing
and on the issues of ego and nothingness..
a king once observed that a sufi did not bow before him. the angry king said to him, 'who r u? there is nothing besides God taht does not bow before me!'. the sufi replied.. 'i am that nothing!'
Farsh,
I actually sense a little relenting and vulnerability in this poem (personal vulnerability versus artistic vulnerability which you have endless amount of). It's very beautiful.
Catch me later if you can - I have another poem I want to throw at you - or you can see it on my blog. You have encouraged me to share my poems since you are brave enough to. It's hard, though.
It is snowing like mad here.
Love,
M
Wow!!!!!
i've read this poem over and over again...
always the same notion of awe rushing over me each time.
*reeling in wonder of your words*
how perfectly apt, sombre, and realistic.
brilliant!
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