A poem


A Poem.

 I don't know what made me write this poem. I was intending it to be something else, but it turned out to be something else. 

 Here it is :- 
I promise to tell you my secret,

If you won’t tell mine,

We’ll meet over lunch & have a glass of wine,

In case you whine, you little swine,

I give you my word, I will bottle you up in jar of brine.

I committed a murder, not so long ago,

In the time of spring, just beneath the flowery bough,

We were having a cup of earl grey & cucumber sandwich,

The one who always bewitched me was a witch all the time.

Oh she loved me, she told me so.

But she loved Tom, dick, harry & many more.

What blew me apart, when she pulled the axe on my poor heart,

When she told me, that most of all she loved our neighbor, the fiery tart.

That fiery tart was a young woman,

And I couldn’t fathom, why a woman loved a woman.

Angered & Smoldered, all burnt up inside,

I threw the tea cup at her , she whimpered first and then simmer.

Called me bovine & hit me on the chest,

One two three four and I was down on the floor,

And fiery tart was knocking on the door,

The garden was wet,

And the lovers placed a bet, planned on to kill me,

One two three, tables were turned on me,

First I was the king and now I am a victim,

The lovers turned to me, one with an axe and other with a tea cup in her hand.

What an odd choice of murder weapon, but I knew this was my end.

The last words were- did I love her  or did I love the idea of being with her,

I knew I was not going to be anymore.

Epilogue as written by the poet’s wife-

There is more to life, more than riches and silk,

No pottery from china or laces from Rome,

A woman needs more, at times a companion,

Like a classic recipe, perhaps a bouef bourguignon,

Sometimes a sixty nine, or a glass of wine,

A few words or talk about books,

Not a news special programme at nine,

Now that its over,

And you are six feet under,

We both get a new chance to start our lives again,

With you its after life,

And for me my dear dead husband, its reading books with my fiery tart for life.




Note :- It was fun writing this poem. I think most of it came to me, while reading this novel- Sneaky People by Thomas Berger.

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