Wednesday, April 02, 2008


This little poem feels more like prose to me. It just doesn't feel good enough to me. But I've been working on it since September 2005. I give up. This is it and I'm not really happy with it.

Sometimes

Sometimes. It hurts.
Like plucking a flower or
Trapping a butterfly.
Words come before thought
To look at a crowd and see no smile.
To see people laugh
only so they don't cry
When people speak
Only to feel alive

A friendly hand seems a trap
Every good deed only an opportunity
It hurts.
When friendship is nurtured by the material
And love is guided by the cynical.
When it feels selfish to give
Or impolite to help.

Scaling mountains for happiness
But never content.
Arrogant, we build our lives
Like castles in the air.
Ignorant enough to believe
They will hold
Through all Time.
But to know that this will not last
That the spirit is caught
In so much that shall be lost
But that glorious loss is the goal.
It hurts
Sometimes that we will never understand.
----Megha (09/25/05)

6 comments:

adhishg said...

megha
i loved your blog and this post the most..
you have a way with words that i rarely see.
keep it up.
visit my blog if youve got the time

Sunil said...

The heart accepts some reasons & the journey never stops.

It's really a good poetry. Well written & good style.

Have a nice time. :)

Harshey said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Harshey said...

You should start a rock band...i'm not kidding! You've got the lyrics, and I'm guessing you like to sing as well :).
This poem especially reminds me of two bands that I listen to,R.E.M. and Travis...keep posting!

Unknown said...

@Adi: Thanks!

@Sunil: The journey never stops indeed!

@ Harshvardhan: Haven't heard REM or Travis, but I've heard of them. Don't think I could start a band though coz I wouldn't be able to keep writing all the time.

WORDSmith said...

In fact, of all your postings the one I thought as most natural and flowing so easy is this post..

(I am an intruder who came across your blog through a tag search...pardon my intrusion)

There is a softness in your writing, and the time it portrays is mostly of late sunset...and the pen is feather... ink...squeezed off clouds and that's not rain...

Good ones... and looking forward for more; when you know people are reading you, and reading them with interest, that must surely be an inspiration to bring out what is still left....

...and just when you think there is nothing left, there may be a seed or two waiting for you to water...

...water them....

... let them grow.