From Poetry to Prose

The lines of poetry trickle down slower,
As the force of their flow lowers,
Condensing into thick, long lines,
While commas freeze into full stops,

Grammar hardens, turning rigid,
While the heart that melted now turns frigid,
Its skin now thicker, smirks cold without reason,
Analysis takes over, while emotion breaks at this treason,

Language raises its hefty eyebrows,
And slowly smiles at the mighty prose,
For it isn't often the case,
That surrender stops the flow of words,

The valve of the heart-tap closes full,
While the pen takes a break and rests still,
And then it dawn upon the holder of the quill,
That words now flow faster still,

That in poetry, it's emotions that flow,
While in prose, the rational glows,
Beating the speed of heart-spun words,
It dances to the tune of logic and sense,

Prose then smiles, glorious and proud,
Its wrds ringing, clear and loud,
Sans the dreary dreams of poems,
It recites its purpose, brief and to the point.

This work was inspired by a poem that came in the Bengali film, Baishe Srabon (poem link)

A Tribute to C504, H13, IIT Bombay

A cool breeze blows from the window,
Pushing to close the open door,
It blows freely like never before,
For the space within is freed from my critter,

An unfamiliar silence brews within,
Sans the sound of my scratching pen,
Devoid of the noise of pointless, loud chatter,
For the space within is freed from my critter,

The window is open and so is its shade,
Pigeons startle at their echo that sounds loud,
Cheerful at newfound space they enter,
For the space within is freed from my critter,

The plugpoints heave a noiseless sigh,
Breathing in deep from their nostrils three,
For no device for work nor tea's plugged there,
For the space within is freed from my critter,

The shelves, they flex their stiff muscles,
Now liberated from the load of my books,
Their cobwebs give in lazily to the soft breeze,
For the space within is freed from my critter,

My neighbours let out a quiet smile,
Dancing in the joy of their newfound tranquil,
Untouch'd by the noise of my loud speakers,
For the space within is freed from my critter,

The walls within that bore it all,
Now stand emancipated, silent and tall,
And yet they shed a painty tear,
For the space within is freed from my critter.

An Ode to Solitude

I've bolted the door my dear,
Won't you come hither,
So I may sink in the pool of your presence,
And hold you in a tight, endless embrace,

I look into your eyes long and deep,
Forgetting my fatigue and my urge to sleep,
For I cannot but wonder in awe,
Why so many flee from your side,

And yet they do, racing ahead,
Quite often hitting their head,
Into crowds swarming noisy bars and lofty malls,
All in an attempt to escape your presence,

Do they not see, bright an clear,
That in crowds you are nearer,
That you fill hostile company with more ease,
Than the remoteness of a quiet, solitary house?

I see them deluded, and trapped in the notion,
That solitude exists not in commotion,
Trapped in that thought, they bide their time,
Their whine forgotten in the intoxication of wine,

Our door closed, I now forget their fall,
And I draw to you, in response to your call,
I lift my arms giving up my fight,
And walk into yours, for you to hold me tight.