everybody goes thru a phase bitten by the poetry considering oneself a Keats in the making...even i had written poetry years back...but the my own composition disgusted me so much that i never made a second attempt...alas the resolution was not very strong...yesterday in a weird mood i wrote another poem....

here is my lame attempt at poetry....

i know your little secret 

in those furtive eyes and hesitant smile

and your cheeks going all claret 

hiding it has now become futile

it is a candlestine love story 

a love lost of untold pain

it is the morning glory

a tale of unpleasant gain

you smile and cry

you celebrate and grieve

you are inert and wry

you quetion and believe

a clash of self and alter ego 

a continous battle of you and me 

a process of holding back and letting go 

a mirror of tragedy and parody