In the isolated corner
Of my mind
There lies a poem.
POEMS are exaggerated
forms of happiness
Packed in a jar of commas and semicolons.
People even say,
POEMS are the beauty of
the night sky with blooming evening primroses and twinkling stars.
POEMS are written to describe the beauty of the pink dress worn by the most beautiful girl spilling merlot for her admirers.
People also say,
POEMS are to glorify the splendid view of the lilacs and magnolias in the garden of the boy I once loved.
And here lies my poem
Wearing a bauta (they say),
preventing the world to view its paragraphs and commas.
But seeking the world through the kaleidoscope and wishing to spill its lines like the sunrays spilling in the Pacific.
My poem is a teacher,a guide.
My poem once told me,it’s ok not to admire Romeo and Juliet.
But it asked me to thank the unknown blood donor even once if I had met him.
My poem loves to hold its breath but desires to sneeze out its lines someday.
It is like the broken origami lying abandoned in my mind.
It is like those unenveloped letters lying buried in my garden.
My poem is ‘me’.
Waiting to spill,
Hope I will jot it down someday in binaries.