I was in love with a Poem:

The poet lured her victims into her wild kingdom of
Word, words, words, that
became the forest of ****** illusion
verses and verses that I never encounter;

In this kingdom I never notice the Sunrise before Sunset
The chanting before the protesters
Lightening before the winds
suddenly brought on by the rain,
That triggers the mighty storms:

The poetics effects of Similes, Hyperbole,
Understatement and personification devices got my attention
Pages after pages,
line of words that opened my eyes,
The mighty pen, a trending poem,
and there I was a loyal reader
With an amazing cup of hot coffee

The poem took me through
this much-modernized tale of
Alice’s rabbit hole adventures

Poems are to be read aloud,
loving making is meant to be private
So is mourning for the dead:
Some things are just meant to be...private

My love for the poem and
my admiration on its poetic views
Is more than human emotions,
than my stimuli of brain ***
I read the poem while sipping my coffee,

Birth, death, politics and religion
***, drugs and empty souls : human emotions,
This much-modernized free verse poetry can causes multiplies  *******

All the time and everywhere I look…
The search of my eyes end, when I see what you left and what you took.
I look for the signs you leave,
Back in the room where you lived.

I see the signs like your jacket lying on the couch,
I look at the ring of water percolated from your glass,
I smell a mingle of both your perfume and your scotch,
Resting my eyes on the undone bed, at last.

Bedazzled with the idea of you without you,
I visit the places which I visited with you.
I go to the temple where you took me once,
Making my peace with the fact, that you weren’t here since months.

In the same city, on the same path,
I have your signs enveloped around my heart.
Since I know it won’t be long when you return,
I stare at that coffee shop, wondering when will it be again when we start.

I am habitual to look for your signs,
On the roads which we used to take,
Your roads and mine.
When somebody talks like you,
The habitual me thinks, that your signs they make.

Make that journey of waiting shorter for me,
Let’s look for those signs together, as ‘we’.
Let’s create some more signs for me to reminisce,
And thy signs shall I always seek.

I will not love you

Again for another five years
Unless you make a commitment
My needs, your wants,
your passionless approach said only
one thing…you are still living in a fool paradise
What does any man need after the age of 60?
His retirement plan or his servility

The poets became the underwear sale men
They tried to sell their poems to the optimist
Whereas an Queen of African Pop singer exposes her body on stage
While belting out loud outrageous lyrics, because she was a crowd pleaser

Long poems, short poems
Old century poets, modern contemporary poets
We all have the right to sermonize your words into magical dust,
The contemporary poets stood on the balcony reciting,
Some onlookers’ claps and some Jarred

Today’s youth is being waste away faster than their elders
Chanting, raving ranting rapping lyrics from the balcony
making a mockery of the old century poetic poets
The poets became the underwear sale men
as they tried to sell their poems to the optimist