Can a poem be measured
Against its own will,
When the reader has
Not a thought in their mind,
No wind in their sails,
No imagination to fill,
No desire for stories to prevail
Beyond platitudes so stale
And the occasional cheap thrill.
Can a poem be priced
By the square-inch,
Every word dissected and diced
In the eyes of the grinch
Who reads for a response,
Who reads for truth,
Not knowing what they want,
Not recalling their youth.
Can a poem be sold
When sentiment is free,
Can it hold
The multitudes of a soliloquy
In its gentle folds,
Or will it wither with every turning page,
Will it die with the final breaths
Of a far-forgotten age.
Can a poem be a clean slate
With confessions so heavy,
Will it sink,
Will it stand
In the arms of a priest,
In a lover’s forgiving hand,
Will it sing incomplete
Until its final command,
Or drop dead in defeat
On the cold concrete,
Alongside its fellow verses
And its flawed man.
Taira Deshpande is a student of psychology and literature, and an aspiring writer and poet. Her poetry is a medium through which she reaches the extent of her curiosity about nature, emotion, loss, behaviour, and everything in between.