Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Unsung Confession: Silence of the Heart

She passes by
I see your sigh
She comes near
You are tongue-tied
Oh dear!
Oh dear!

She says “Hi!”
You just clear your throat
Oh my!
Oh my!
Why are you shy?
You ought to ply
How be it I see you freeze
You lie!
You lie!

You lie to the letter
Your mind is sober
You keep it inside
I see your lather.

Oh, you are dense!
Love is there
I can see its presence
There is no need for lens.

You lie!
You are lying to your heart
I see the dart
It is stuck in your heart
From the very start.

Can’t you find a word?
Lo!
It is cheap
You can afford
It is cheaper
Than the cheapest sword.

I hear your soliloquy
Yes, I can see!
Your heart and nerves
Jaunt in a dismal melee
You say you can’t
But feelings disagree
You say that it is impossible
But your heart says that it can be
Just let it free!
Let it free!

What’s wrong?
Aren’t your feelings strong?
If “No, they are”
There is no need to prolong
Say it clear!
Say it loud!
“I love you, Dear!”
Be proud.

Love confesses
Nothing more, nothing less
Love undresses
It wants to care
And caress.

It wants to kiss away
Every doubt
Doubts run away
Whenever lips pout
Its embrace
Gives comfort
Love ushers the way
Love is an escort
To passion every night
Love says “Come what may”
For both of you will fight.

But you are here
You are a coward
Is not that severe?
You move one step forward
But ten steps backward
With your friend fear
There is nothing love can do
This is stir!

You want
To keep it hidden
You think
It is forbidden
Bah!
Cynicism wins
You lean on its languid wall
It is clearly seen
Is your love raffish?
Oh, you are foolish!
You are cynicism’s main dish
You are granting its wish.

I see impunity
But is it right?
This is folly!
You don’t have the might
I suppose
You do not deserve her
There is not a litter
You just can’t’ be better.

I suppose
There is nothing love can do
You have decided to bear through
The unsung confession
I pity you!

7 comments:

  1. Good job Greg. The longest poem I've read this year. Keep on blogging and I'll be your avid reader.

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  2. Grand Merci Sir Bongs..! actually, that poem was written last summer. A product of silence and boredom.

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