Poetry | 91 Chapters
Author: Ann Bee
Read Me is simply a lyric to your vagrant tune, words to your thoughts, a photograph of your imagination, a wishful shape of your memories. We read several books, some of them enter a deeper level within us at the risk of getting replaced by a different book with a better concept to grasp or relate. This book doesn’t fall in any of these categories. Why? It’s because the expressions in this book are a part of us, they reside within. We live w....
Patrons of the romantics,
apologies for the forthcoming disappointment
for this very poetry is about life as it is
bold, broken and bamboozled,
no much fictional connotation to behold.
Scrounge deep all you want
for mystery I prefer to possess.
The servings on your pale, white plate
is barely obvious to comprehend.
Let me and the book borrow your attention
for the number of pages that awaits just for you, only you.
It is a matter of depth and scattered verses
you need to hold, solve and sell.
You wouldn’t be the same towards the last page
so wouldn’t I, that I can tell.
Who are the people
who prattle to themselves in their solitary bit?
What would you name them?
Insane, demented, absurd?
If yes, I am the head of that abode.
I prepare a skit, take it random
where I am the narrator, I am the writer,
the doctor or the actor grabbing that gleamy stardom.
I don’t need any qualification or thriving years.
This world appreciates every kind of act
without a hint of fear.
Taking position of different characters,
I stand holding that glass close to mine.
Reciting the lines from every possible direction
or role I tend to assign.
I clink my invisible glass
with some imaginative champaign to hold.
“Cheers to my sanity!” I howl.
I receive no mockery in this locale,
there’s no one to jeer my morale,
there’s no downfall of the incoming suspense.
Its just me and my design
be it silly, proper or terrible enough
for me to resign.