Goonda and I were doing some intense discussion on poetry and philosophy the other afternoon and we realized one shocking fact.
While there were reams and reams of word gushing from male poets on wanderlust and travel. There has been not even a whisper from any femmes. We decided to remedy this with our very own humble submission. (Mr. Yeats please don’t spin in your grave)
I will arise now and go and make some tea
And a small breakfast built of eggs and bread made
Nine baked beans will I have there and a hive for honey for the toast
And eat all this in some cozy tree-shade
And I shall have some juice there
For juice comes dripping slow
Dropping from the juicer into the tall big glass
Dripping after whales of effort
To where the bai groans
I will arise and go now
For always night and dayI hear sounds of the dhobi, milkman, maid
Banging on the door,
Or moping with low sounds by the floor
(P.S. I don't know why we butchered one of my all time favorite poems. Sigh. Nothing is sacrosanct any more)
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1 comment:
dahling, we did not mutilate the poem...in keeping with the theme we merely let our minds wander wildly
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