Thursday, June 10, 2010

And down came the spider


Notebooks are good for writing poems
You need to write with a pen
And imbue the words with the peculiar signaturing of your handwriting

Like a spider weaving its web.

Poems and love letters,
There's no way to type them
Till afterwards -
When the personal leaches out
With a little time

And the meaning becomes universal.

It's fine then, type, print, make handbills, annotate, discuss, titter -
They've put on their street clothes by then.

But when you write poetry, profess love in writing -
You've got to strip it naked
And feel around inside

For meanings and things you have to delve for.

Things you won't necessarily find
Like muses
That make you write poems -

But don't like being caught at it

And Love- obviously
That wants you to write love letters
To explain a unique feeling that is not
Without caring for such home truths -
Or being exposed, vulnerable, more than a little ridiculous

And leaving a soggy trail of moist heartbeats.

Smudges -
Nobody writes either anymore come to think of it
Hardly.

Except literary types
Who like being obscure
And poems just fit their bill.

Most lovers looking to express their feelings
Use text messages now
To rendezvous, tryst,
There's no serious time apart-
No need to pine and long, and hide, pretend, feign -
Fox society, prepare ground
So sms and rub it out quickly after pressing the send button
From the sheer embarrassment
Of technological riches
And impermanence fleeting as obsolescence

Even if the service provider reads your messages.

Love fast forwards automatically
Now
So who has the time?
Unless you're a killer

That needs to be traced.

Besides what does the spider think about
All the work it puts into the webs?
If it thinks in that fuzzy little arachnoid head that is -
It's worth it for the food it catches
Surely,
But I don't know -
It's natural to it to keep weaving webs -
Walking up and down the spirals and dive bombing on its silver threads
It has fun -
Even if it catches nothing except the fleeting morning dew -

And poets and lovers to admire all its legwork.

Gautam Mukherjee
10th June 2010