Rabindra Mishra

If words don’t exude fervour

Or belch fire

If sentences don’t pierce the heart

Or blow the mind

If stanzas don’t evoke passion

Or awe-inspiring power

Will that be a poem?

They write something like:

Runner beans are flying

In the horizon

Covered by dark clouds

Leaving the city

As silent as a graveyard

And expect us to decipher the meaning.

Why should I?

Let them go to hell!

They deserve to be stacked in bookstores

Not my shelves

I would rather read novels.

Shit…

Am I writing a poem?

Rabindra Mishra, 29 December 2005, London

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