It is ironic that I am attempting to write poems. I don't understand poetry. I find it difficult to traverse through the imagery, metaphors and similies that reside in a poem. Then there is something called meters. I have no idea what they were. Yet, I have written many poems. Why? Poems help express or note down thoughts quickly. I look at poems as a write up in which I don't write complete sentences and let grammar float away like a he, he, he, helium balloon. Also, poems offer two challenges to my writing. First, can the idea be expressed though grammar is let loose? Second, does the poem have a rhythm? After writing a poem I read it out loud with some rhythm to see if it fits. If something does not fit, I change words or the structure of the line. I think this rhythm is probably what the concept of meter refers to. So, today I have come to accept that my poems are probably poems.
Over the past few week, I wrote three small poems based on some minor experience.
Towards a billion Trudging ahead was a man
Bag on each shoulder,
His life's belongings.
Probably needs more,
Not probably, probably.
The world around him, with me in it,
Thriving to get more
By doing more and more.
How much more should I do
To be satisfied,
To feel, enough?
A car, two cars, maybe three
One's a Benz.
One house, two, maybe three
One by the sea
One million, two, maybe one hundred
With two under the pillow.
And how long to get there?
One year, five years, maybe a hundred and fifty
With some luck.
I will get there
I might be dead by then
But i will get there.
I know, I am sure
I am gonna be a billionaire
Dead or alive!
In a circus
I 'm jumping through hoops
Like a circus lion.
No, a lion's too fierce
For me to be that.
I 'm more a donkey
A circus donkey
Carrying hoops.
Not a performer
Jumping through hoops.
A nobody
Lost in the crowd.
Considered lazy,
But is lazy
With no time
To be lazy.
Busy jumping hoops
That don't exist.
Not even jumping
Just passing through
Making no impact
But thinking it does.
Too tired to rest,
Yet lacking the zest
To live through life
Filled with loads
That don't really matter.
I am a circus donkey
Being human
It was on that day
That I got to know
About his health
Till then I had focussed
On his wealth.
Money can be distracting
For it keeps attracting
Attention and exertion.
So, I ignored his pain
Focussed on his gain
One might say, I am vain
But it should be plain
I am only being human.
Living in my own reality
Believing it's the reality,
Nothing else exists
Other than my values.
My value of utmost importance.
My world, in neat boxes
With defined edges,
More classical than quantum.
