Writing poems is one way to articulate one’s emotions. It demands a good amount of imagination. One other factor which affects a poem is inspiration, or the lack of it. I’ve turned to the verses too, when I found that a prose was not enough to verbalize my feelings. This poem here however, was one which was written under some constraints. Basically, it was written as part of an event, where we were given the topic, paper and a pen, and a time limit too. Hence, this poem could show traces of imperfection, or, it could come across like a melancholy of a caged bird; after all, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. Critiques are welcome.
Queer is the way that nature works;
Strange is the way it works its magic.
For, of all things that the nature blends,
The sweetest ones are as fragile as glass.
The flower that blooms at the dawn of the day,
and spreads its fragrance both near and away,
is nature’s creation par excellence.
The fact is, it’s not here to stay-
it is but, as fragile as glass.
The dew drop that adorns the grass in the lawn
is as brilliant as a shining pearl.
Its existence is but momentary-
for the slightest touch can shred it apart.
It is another gem, as fragile as glass.
An infant is a wonder of nature,
a thing of beauty to be savoured forever.
It is but another treasure, to be
taken care of, till it gains its strength,
for, till then, it is but as fragile as glass.
A young lass is yet another sculpture,
as magnificent as the sculptor himself.
Her heart is but a delicate thing-
the sweetest thing is as fragile as glass.
Fragility seems a rule unwritten;
that nature imports to all its blends –
as if to remind us all, that –
a thing of beauty may be a joy forever; but
the thing itself will not last forever.
[Image courtesy: Original image of broken glass courtesy of Iván Melenchón Serrano.]