'An Idiomatic Verse' Poem by Munia Khan

A little bird told me to get the ball of fire.
So, I have got my man who's a high-flyer.
In poetry he has been blazing a trail.
He sends me his love, he never does fail.
Composing poem's left him worn to a shadow.
My ideas in front of them- as dead as a dodo.
For he is as wise as an owl; a real night owl.
My poems are always neither fish nor fowl..
In my poem, I find nothing to write home about.
As he is my master, I have always lost out.
This kind of a master suits me to a T.
Whatever I write I get off scot free
‘Cause our love for each other has gone sky-high.
Except loving his verse I have no other fish to fry.
In the love's journey we are sailing our boats.
We're not too old to sow our wild oats.
I believe his words hook, line and sinker.
He is not only a good poet but also a thinker.
And always he has been holding all the cards.
To me he's a forbidden fruit and I'm for the birds.
He cannot rule the roost when he runs a fever.
But even then he writes to me with his poetic endeavour.
It is all possible by virtue of our passion.
When the time is ripe we send our expression.
We lay down the law for the poetry stick.
I love to praise but never pour it on thick.
Sometimes in the night we can't sleep a wink.
I need to fix my mind then for it is on the blink.
We burn ourselves out as though lovers so spoil.
He burns the candle at both ends; I burn the midnight oil.
We ring the changes by adding things acute
We're aware never to detect a rift in the lute.
He has too much to do wearing more than one hat.
But there's more than one way to skin a cat.
We want us so badly but we can bear up.
Even with daily grind we can cheer up.
Whenever I have him my heart skips a beat.
I read and re-read them as I want to feel fit.
I love being wrapped up only in him.
Believing my wish won't remain a pipe-dream.

Written On the 20th-21st January,2010.