I suppose that in all different genre of writing , poetry is the most arduous to execute and even interpret. You can never complete the poem or manifest it if you are not profoundly devoted to that particular theme you are exploring in the poem. I write poetry when something compels me to stop thinking anything but to pin down my thoughts in a form of poem. Although i savour each kind of poem whether prose, sonnet, poem without a rhyme scheme, etc. but I am truly delighted with a rhythmic one. And this particular poem I wrote, inspired by a cloudy dusk when not a single drop poured to release the tension of clouds.
A WOEBEGONE GIRL
She walked again through that queer and unfamiliar road,
To meet that person on whom she wrote her ode.
Not realising that the dusk has approached,
The stars are spread,
Manifesting all those souls who are long dead.
Not caring about that world which laid behind,
The people who got them separated last night.
There, she saw the silhouette standing alone,
Facing across the sea with his arms crossed.
Rushing like a wind her steps unfold,
To embrace her love, that man on the board.
She was about to reach but someone pulled her away,
She looked back, was shocked, got stuck on the way.
The figure was intimate and her known,
It was like a mirror kept in front of her own.
Benumbed she was to see the reflection of her own little elf,
Who ceased her to face the man she loved, that helf.
She turned away to glance at him,
But he was gone without another glim.
Crying again she wakes up from the nightmare,
Tears and loneliness is what she now bear.
Presently, she realises the basis of their separation.
It weren’t the people on which she put the blame,
They were just mere pawns in this game.
Groggily, she again went to her bed,
Hoping the despair dream won’t dread.
Her cycle of life will throughout remain the same,
And eventually she will realise the person she hate!