Thursday, August 12, 2010


Read my heart,
As you would read a poem,
Slowly, uncertainly,
Gingerly finding your way
Through thickets of overgrown syllables,
Unravelling, with infinite patience,
The maze of metaphors,
Alleyways of allegories,
Stumbling over images
That wont be side-stepped,
Pausing now and then to savour,
A nuance delicately flavoured,
A turn of phrase that imbues,
Words with unglimpsed hues,
Till finally, you reach the end,
And find freedom in the soul,
That intimately bares to you,
All its beauty, and its
Moles and warts as well.

Go away,
If prose is what you prefer,
The heart knows no other
Language than that of poetry.

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