Can a poem be embellished after it is done?
There is always something left unsaid. Like the
grief of a dead lover, who did not utter the final
endearment, perhaps the final truth. Must I drop
the pen to the floor in rancour! Must finish be a soliloquy,
heard by me alone! I think, I must console on the fact
that those who chance to read should fill in the gap themselves!
Or am I just too hasty to let everything fall in place,
and in the bargain, end up leaving things mistimed
and miscued. There is a lot of haste in the world today!
Mass media, social media, artificial intelligence is all
so hasty at the fingertips. I draw out a sigh to think that
my poem is like a haste at the fingertips. The keyboard has
no patience, I lose my beauty, in the bargain! You know, ages
ago, Cleopatra had the patience in her youth to learn profounder
things before she embarked on recipes for skin-deep beauty!
There is no patience in the world to age beautifully today, we all
want a cut of the knife that botoxes our beauty. But beauty is not
just the attractive lingerie, today, that you want to exhibit only to
your lover, in the bedroom. Is my poetry not that exotic lingerie!
Does it mean that a poet fails his intimacy and wants to draw public
attention, like all things modern. The more mass we get, the
more the exotic does pass out. I cannot be secretive, though, if
I cannot lie! Must even poetry deceive, even if it means to
speak the truth, to protect the beauty of the poet? Being a cynosure
is always a drain on the soul’s energies and fluids. Am I not justified
to trick the chicaners, then! For, there are too many rapining villains
who want to ferret out the pearls from my oysters, to make their devious
carnivorous Gardens of Eden haloed grounds on the fruits of my travails!
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