From Mondays PubTalk, Brian got me thinking – “We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race.” I asked myself – where is my verse? I didn’t have an answer. I searched for an answer for almost two days. The answer was hidden in the clue given on the same post. Now I am linking this poem to Dversepoets OpenLinkNight. You can read about all the other wonderful poetry from this link.
The bread I earn?
A noble profession? – yes
Pays bills, debts.
Conspiracy lives in my skin
Pays in a time of
Shrewdness, the king
Wins success, apt.
A gentle lover and father at home,
Has a tear at the corner of eyes
Easy for the mirror to miss
Yet, as real as morning dew.
Read about inequalities, in leisure
Fancy a revolution, sometimes
Dream about a perfect world, in a couch
Is not real enough.
Life of a bubble, in shell of mollusc
We live thousand verses everyday
Very few gets penned; We wear
As eternal, proud, tears of pearl –