Few scribbles and a poem
I.
Why do women so love
metaphors?
Because only women can hear the strange music that blows in the air
Only when the minor chord touches her, she radiates the unseen shiver
The tremble spreads in the air and again it converges in
Because she can feel it coming within her: the thing, the meaning
Because she loves it coming before it really comes to her
Because she wants it she wants it now she won’t take it before it is time
Because the metaphor means you have crossed it over, at least once, better twice
Because she adores your voice, but she knows it sounds better than things merely nice
Because she loves the face beneath your mask (she only likes it if there is one)
Because she smiles at the implied and plays with the written and the done
Because she knows the answer but is eager for the words you are searching for
Because she knows what you will say, she is just stitching and unstitching knots
Because she likes your shirt smelling like your skin and your skin tasting like something else
Because she will give what a man wants and hates the precise demands
Because she likes a sentence which she can smoothen like a wrinkle and clean like a stain
Because she overlooks the mortal thing and cherishes the fragile porcelain
Because though you chase her she knows she is not real, she is the opening
The real, as you define it, is something she refuses to dwell in
She likes feelings which shimmer like ideas, light in the pond’s skin
Because the answers above never reach it, more love slips away, love seeps in…
Thanks for the question, Inam…I don’t know how the above is connected to the poem following… Read more…
