Indulgence

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.