When a person you admire gets admiration of too many and that gets you jealous…

No this is not a poem for all those lost

This is not for the magazines that cost.

It’s because he got me irritated,

Anger through words will be dissipated.

And so she bestowed upon me this virtue,

Though she herself of poetry, has no clue.

“Why?!” I scream “Why?”

As upon the comments that register praises of him.

I know I’m jealous and my chances to show are slim.

I cannot reach or touch him like another,

I’m oceans apart and distance does matter.

He doesn’t know what started this.

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Probably I’ve gotten curious and that’s the price

I don’t write poems often, but she started it in me.

She makes me write because of the anger I see..

If I chose to destruct, I could, easily..

But what difference would that be?

No, I chose to write sentences, not rhymes.

But now I find myself clogged with chimes.

I donot hate poetry, but this unknown jealousy…

That’s oozing out faster as I see people praise him

He’s my friend not theirs….

Or so I thought till I heard the applause.

He knows not what he started,

Confusion in my mind.

I’ll hide him in my wings,

So that no one could find.

Possessive as time seems to train me.

We’re all God’s children, one big family.

She gave me the gift of writing poems..

All for what? To admire a man who knows me not.

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Comments (2)
  • LOVELYHONEY on May 5, 2009

    r u a racialist ?
    why this indian bias we all are human ,HOPEFULLY.
    PLEASE READ THIS ONE OR IF IT HURTS YOUR EGOUSE THE DELETE BUTTON.
    LH

    My latest teacher
    They all read you,
    Though they all are,
    On my fan list too.
    But those who read me,
    Are a miniscule few.

    I wish I had learnt,
    The art of composing poetry.
    I am no poet,
    That anyone can see.
    Yet Triond is very kind to me,
    They publish,
    All the trash I compose,
    And my computer does dispose.
    Ah! what confidence,
    In me they repose.

    I have made many friends,
    Still continue to/
    Some move on,
    To greener pastures.
    Some stay,
    In the hope,
    That some how,
    They will have theIr own way.

    Some think of just four letter words.
    But I am a free lancer,
    Have had enough with this worlds’,
    Many a face
    Upon human race,
    My mind nothing but,
    Greed,
    Jealousy,
    Lust,
    Of course sex,
    Alone only trace

    No one likes to understand,
    The meaning of CREATIVITY,
    Nor do I so care,
    Off the cuff,
    I still CONTINUE,
    To write poetry

    No second draft,
    I dare.
    Look at the audaciousness,
    Of my EGO,
    With poets’ of you’re standing,
    I dare myself to compare.

    Oh, who art thou, you monster?
    Some one would like to say,
    Go away.
    But friends like George,
    Sweetest Princess,
    And now the best one of all,
    That is you,
    Shall continue to say,
    Yes keep composing poems,
    Your own inimitable way

    Till either we learn your style,
    Or you come,
    Follow the remaining Earthian
    Sheep- like,
    LIKE,
    All do till this very day.

  • Kaavs on May 5, 2009

    Dear LH,
    How could you ask me if i were a racialist?
    When you don\’t know me, or what profession -that too a specialist?
    I was offended with the first question, of course!
    What \”Indian\” bias you referred to? It comes to me with remorse…
    Please read the lines i wrote in the poem posted
    There’s no mention of anyone, or enmity hosted.
    Intended to address a person I admire..look at the picture!
    The feeling of being unnoticed, i had wished to capture.
    I take criticism very well thank you,
    But why blame me falsely for what i did not do?
    Let\’s be honest and get it out of your chest…
    Is it regarding the comment i left at \”your silent shivers\”?
    To an onlooker who patiently read it and could relate
    Where you had mentioned all the places from the country,
    Bombay and Chandigarh to name a few..
    what about the verse, where you left the clue –
    \’And between,
    Engineering and poetry he is torn.\’
    Dear LH, I am in that situation, all grown.
    I loved that poem, but now I have second thoughts.
    For, how could u accuse me? the words in my head rots.
    Guess we didn\’t start with the right foot down…
    I\’m a simple person, loves life and all around
    Ask my friends, if you don\’t believe me.
    We can be friends, welcome to my life, Lovely Honey.

    Cheers,
    Kaavs

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