About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
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In My Tiny Room Not a showcase for the world,
rather one shellacked box
with a water repellent finish;
a match for my verve,
with no shame
or blame but
enjoying the drama,
exchanging pleasantries with the walls,
I enclose myself
in words
cast and recast,
revealing shapes
from a naked soul
in porous imaginings.
Never could conceive
a sculptured existence,
for I live my life in one tiny room,
renovated so
clipped wings will grow
to leave behind
the earth’s crust
with forget-me-nots.
Far from swirls of marauding minds,
my room graces my passionate steps,
where moody messages
intertwine with
spells of turbulence
to create
a bargained rapture.
Even when filled with doubt,
without wishing anything to be different,
I find the end of a rainbow,
amid multicolored lines,
an easy access to my pot of gold.
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© Copyright 2002 Joy (joycag at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
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