Checkmate

My poetry is naive …
she is sometimes brave
sometimes nascent
and mostly an enclave ,
of emotions deep
of piercing pain
which I get in heaps
of high octane ,
the bruises of past
and brunt of the cuts ,
unpleasant things
under the carpet tucked ,
unearthed by storm
threadbare and torn ,
loads of it
mourning on my paper ,
life is waning
no worries Oh Gautier ,
moments and days and weeks
drift by
I do not question
my mast is high ,
though frozen in pain
the flowers bloom
pink lotus in the lake
tells me it’s not doom ,
am I a self healing polymer ?
whom do I believe my dear ….
the lotus , or the sting
of the bee flitting around ,
or the words of my poem
which are bursting profound ,
comfort or discomfort
love or hate
if I don’t flow in poetry
it sure is a checkmate …..
© Dr Swati A Gadgil , All Rights Reserved .