Torso
A POEM.
The thing I drew was a female.
The thing was as if in a mirror,
someone standing in between-
me and my art: a female thing.
The thing was only a thing,
as it had no hands to clasp,
and no legs to part;
a torso: on which I can work-
my inmost sensuous spark.
I made her nothing short of-
an exhibition piece.
The pride I had was that of a 'creator';
conceiving,
constructing,
controlling.
But the pride died quickly,
and the corpse turned into lust.
The only thing I found in her as lack,
was the place for me to enter.
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[This poem is previously published in BOOKSIE ]
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[This poem is previously published in BOOKSIE ]
Comments
(@^.^@)
"nothing short of an exhibition piece"
Perfectly defines a woman. She is but the societal pawn ,who realizes not her lack of identity......effaced has been her identity from the times of Eve . The female nonentity Is attributed with beauty that becomes an exhibitionist quality and ,invokes lust. A lot more can be said ........
I think i am reading a poem written by you for the first time.an excellent portrayal of one of the human weaknesses.I think what i conceived is correct.am i RIGHT?