Poetry is not a quickie.
It ejaculates only
when it attains
maturity of emotions
the pure-impure puberty only when orgasmic spasms embrace an ejaculatory feel-- meaningful moans
of intense love, unuttered sighs, woes
or a twinge of pain-
not from a sweet swinging.
Poetry is not an incision
in and of a caesarean operation
for an easier delivery
of a heavy heave
for heaving a sigh of relief.
It is a catharsis-
much soothing relief to soul
impregnated with labour
of passion and love,
in the deep ravines of life.
Mated and consummated
fullest to the full,
the intimate communion
between heart and mind
gives blithe birth to the beauteous creativity no more writhing in pain but wallowing in pleasure of intense ecstasy, aesthetically resulting into a blissful procreation-- a poetic creation of soulful expression fondly christened as Poem.
