Dr. Merin Kuruvilla

I gave you the poem, and though it was leaning
On awkward form, with more words than meaning,
With its faulty posture, and its jagged edges,
It pulsed with the whispers that passion dredges
To configure these metaphors, and to rehearse
My passion in these fragile threads of verse.

I gave you the poem, for all its words creeping
Through futility, for its proper keeping,
To press between a bound volume as petals,
As the wild beating of my passion settles.
As an offering for you to carefully hold,
And yet its ardor leaves you hard and cold.

I can almost hear you think – what’s the use
Of this poetry? And almost see you refuse
To be trapped in my metaphors, and push away
Unfolding lines harshly, unto their decay.
And you prod at the vulnerabilities till
The fragile rhymes shatter, and the pieces lie still.